


East Side Story

by grace_walton



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Romeo and Juliet, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, There's No Tag For That, but like with gangs, kind of, lots of fighting, rich gangsters, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-10-19 19:30:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20662529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_walton/pseuds/grace_walton
Summary: After leaving Seoul years ago to live with his cousin Johnny in Chicago, it is time for Mark to come home. For what reason, he doesn't know. All he knows is he hasn't seen his parents since he was eight, and his brother for even longer. Plus, he can't seem to shake off the feeling that there are secrets waiting for him in Seoul. Secrets, and a boy with dark eyes who keeps claiming to hate him.Donghyuck's family rules Seoul in comfort. Has for almost a decade now. Until the news that the youngest of the Jung family is returning sends a shockwave through the city. Donghyuck hates the Jungs. He hates what they did to his family, to him and his brother Jeno. But mostly, he hates how much he doesn't hate Mark. He doesn't hate him at all.





	1. The Little Jung

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is a WIP, so the summary may change as well as the title, but I am determined to finish because this idea has been in my head for forever.  
Enjoy!

** _Saturday night. The Day Of._ **

** **

_Jaehyun’s skull was pounding even before he woke up._

_He was upside down, held in place by only his seatbelt, in the middle of a snowbank. His vision was blurry, but even so he could tell that everything around him was broken. What had once been his parents’ Tesla was now a crumpled husk. The roof was where the ground should be, slightly concave and nearly pressing into the top of Jaehyun’s head, and the bottom was exposed to the sky, wheels still spinning. In front of him, the windshield was smashed, with a long crack splintering across the remaining glass like a lightning bolt._

_Jaehyun followed it with his eyes, trying to focus. He had no idea how long he had been hanging there, or why his head pounded like someone was beating him repeatedly with a pair of boxing gloves, or even how any of this had happened. He tried to lift his hands only to find they were trapped between his body and the dashboard of his car. Maybe if he wasn’t so loopy, panic would be setting in, but the cold of the winter night coupled with all the blood pooling in the top of his skull just made him tired, like he was sleep-walking._

_He could feel his eyes drooping closed once more, the weight of the car forcing him back to sleep._

_“Hey, don’t move okay? An ambulance is coming.” A voice from outside the car said, nudging him awake. It was a girl’s voice, maybe a bit older than him._

_“What happened?” Jaehyun asked, his voice hoarse from the cold air._

_“You veered off the road.”_

_Through the busted front window, he could see the lights of other cars driving past on the highway. That was right, he was on the highway, driving home. It was late, almost two in the morning, and yet he had been out driving on the highway. He was coming home from somewhere…a party? Yes, that’s it, he was coming from a party. But he hadn’t been drinking. He was picking someone up. He had been worried; they had drunk too much, already thrown up twice in the front lawn. Someone important—_

_He tried to move his head so he could check the rear-view mirror, but his neck tensed, sending sharp stabbing pains through his eyes and mouth and brain, and his mind flashed so white he was blinded._

_“Is he okay?” Jaehyun asked through the pain, teeth gritted. The girl hesitated a moment._

_“Who?”_

_“My boyfriend. Is he okay?”_

_“There’s no one else in the car.” The girl responded. Jaehyun’s eyebrows wrinkled together instantly as he squeezed his eyes shut; something was dripping onto his face, making them sting._

_“He’s in the back seat.” Jaehyun said._

_“There’s no one in the back seat.” The girl said again. Jaehyun tried to shake his head, the pain only intensified._

_“Yeah he is. We were coming back from a party. He was drunk so I put him in the back seat.” Jaehyun swallowed, his throat sore. “I just want to know if he’s okay.”_

_The girl didn’t speak for a while, but Jaehyun heard the crunch of her boots as she walked around the car._

_“His name’s Lee Taeyong. He’s wearing a blue jacket and has brown hair.” Jaehyun mumbled. The exhaustion was back in full force with how much he was moving, threatening to overtake him. “He really wanted to drive but I wouldn’t let him. I told him he’d end up crashing the car.” He wanted to sleep; his whole body was practically begging for it. Once he knew how Taeyong was…once he heard his voice, anything, then he could sleep._

_There was a sound of sirens, getting closer and closer. He didn’t remember calling 119. He didn’t even know where his phone was. Maybe Taeyong called? He was always so much better in a crisis than Jaehyun. Yes, that’s right, Taeyong called. Jaehyun could remember it. Taeyong climbed out of the back of the car and called for help. He was standing out there now with the girl, that’s why she didn’t think there was anyone in the backseat. That had to be why…_

_Even so, Jaehyun’s mouth began to move:_

_“We got into a fight. I was being stupid. I was going to apologize when I dropped him off.” Jaehyun thought about Taeyong’s face as he stared ahead, not speaking; how hard it always was to focus on anything else whenever Taeyong got like that._

_“The ambulance is here, they’re gonna help you okay?” The girl said and it sounded like she was crouched down next to him._

_“I just want to say I’m sorry.” Jaehyun whispered, as loud as he could so Taeyong could hear him from outside the car. He was almost delirious now with how heavy his head felt on his neck._

_Before Jaehyun blacked out, he felt the girl reach through the broken window to squeeze his shoulder. Her words were rushed when she spoke: “The roads were really slippery—they hadn’t been cleared properly. It wasn’t your fault. Remember that.”_

♥♰♥

Mark stood in wait at his bedroom window, arms crossed over his chest and dressed in his new school uniform. It was 7 am, so the early morning sky was only a pale blue—like a worn pair of jeans that had been washed too many times. Across the sky was a few smudges of cloud, barely enough to cover the light coming up from behind the houses across the street.

He could faintly see his reflection in the window, only half of his face visible in the light, allowing the sight of the street through. It was empty, since it was so early, with only a few people passing by every couple of minutes; walking their dogs or heading out early in order to miss the morning traffic. It was almost like Mark was in a world completely his own; alternate and peaceful, with elements of the real-world peaking in every once in a while.

He wished the real world would just butt out.

In the right of his peripheral, Mark could see a young woman rushing out of her house, dragging two trash cans behind her in a frantic effort to not miss garbage day. He smiled at her, amused by her obvious sigh of relief when she realized that no one else’s trash had been collected yet.

She placed the two trash cans at the edge of her driveway at the same moment her garage door opened, revealing a car readying to pull out. She waved to it as she walked back to her door, bright grin on her tired face. The car stopped next to her, driver’s side window rolling down and an arm sticking out. She reached for the arm and the man driving pulled her halfway through the window in a last hug before he had to leave. Mark didn’t know the couple well; they were new to the neighbourhood, young—the man fresh out of business school and the woman a pediatrician. Neither having careers with very high salaries, his aunt mentioned once over dinner how they were only able to afford to live in the neighbourhood because the man’s grandmother had bought them the house as a wedding present. The man’s father had not approved of the relationship, cutting him off from any financial assistance. And yet…

The woman pulled out of the window, smile twice as wide as before. She kissed the palm of her hand and pressed it to the man’s cheek, lingering there for only a moment before he drove away, rolling up the window as he went.

Mark had wondered since his aunt had told them about the couple, what it was like to be so in love with someone, that family approval didn’t matter. That despite not speaking to his parents for two years, the man still looked at the woman like she was the world. Mark wondered how that love could even exist. It almost didn’t seem possible.

He watched as the woman tucked her arms around herself and jogged back to the door, shutting it behind her quickly to keep out the cool morning air that was now upon them with the end of summer. Once again, the street was motionless and silent, Mark’s own alternate world. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

There was the sound of a pebble bouncing off the glass in front of his face, making him jump. He opened his eyes and staring up at him from the street was Johnny, waving his hand trying to get his attention. Mark nodded when they made eye contact before walking towards his speaker system, which was large enough to take up the entire wall next to his desk—a bit of a bribe from his aunt and uncle to not quit the soccer team in favour of video games when he was younger—and turning the dial up to its top volume. He then pulled out his phone and scrolled through his music for a moment before pressing play on one of his many Kanye West songs. It didn’t take half a second before the heavy bass began to pour out of the speakers, flooding the entire top floor with music.

Mark shot a quick thumbs up out through the window and Johnny returned the gesture. He was wearing a black t-shirt and loose blue jeans, his dark hair wet and pushed backwards away from his forehead. Mark was pretty sure he had left the evening before wearing a jacket and _not wet_, but—with the way Johnny carried on once the sun set—Mark wasn’t really surprised. Lord knows where Johnny ended up these nights. And with who. Even from two stories up, Mark could make out the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek, as well as a split lip.

Nodding his head along to the music, Mark walked over to his bed and pulled out the first aid kit he kept stashed underneath, opening it up and taking out what he needed. He had his hand on some antiseptic and cotton pads when he heard the telltale slamming of a door and heavy footsteps on the stairs coming towards his room. He jumped off his bed and locked the door just in time for the doorknob to begin shaking.

“Mark Jung!” His uncle was yelling through the door. “Turn that music off!”

“The volume knob is broken again!” Mark yelled back, sitting back down on his bed to focus back on his assortment of bandages.

“Use headphones then!” His uncle began to bang on the door, causing it to pulse like an angry heartbeat. “We do this _every _morning!” A part of Mark felt bad about their daily routine. But the other part of him—the bigger part—reminded him of Johnny, sitting halfway out Mark’s bedroom window just like he did every night, cigarette between his teeth and wild look in his eyes:

“You got me covered right?”

“Of course.” Mark would respond without missing a beat. “I always do.”

Johnny always grinned then, scrunched eyes and reminding Mark of the boy he knew when they were children. “Thanks, Cuz. I can always count on you.” And then he was jumping out, running to meet his crowd of friends who awaited him at the gate.

Mark had promised Johnny when his nightly outings began that he would always be there for him: when he came home bloody and bruised and not wanting to talk about it; when he swung through the window earlier than expected, breathing heavy and already in the middle of telling a story; even when he didn’t show up until 8:30 in the morning; even when he didn’t show up at all, and wouldn’t until dinner. Mark had promised, pinkies crossed, that he would be there.

“What’d you say? I can’t quite hear you!” Mark shut the first aid kit and slid it back under his bed. Next to him, his phone buzzed.

_Johnny: The eagle is in the nest!_

Mark stuffed the first aid supplies on his bed into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder and going over to the speaker, flicking the power button off. The immediate silence was enough to make his ears buzz. His aunt always told him that one of these days he was going to make himself go deaf. Sometimes he feared she was right.

He was about to open his bedroom door when his eyes paused on an envelope on his desk, thin and new, with _Tickets home_ written in clean cursive in the middle. He grimaced and swung his door open. He met his uncle’s frazzled expression with a calm smile.

“Fixed it.” He said lightly, shutting the door behind him.

“You better not be taking that thing with you.” His uncle called after him, before mumbling in a lower voice: “Then I can finally fucking smash it.” Mark had to bite his lip to fight a laugh.

Johnny’s room was at the other end of the long hallway on the second floor and when Mark was sure his father had gone back upstairs, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Come in!” Johnny yelled at top volume, clearly a lot less equipped for subtlety than Mark. Mark rolled his eyes light-heartedly and slipped inside.

Johnny’s room was the whirlwind it always was. Converted from a master bedroom when they moved in, Johnny’s room was a lot bigger, fully furnished with a king-size bed, desk, and walk-in closet. There was also a chandelier hanging from the ceiling that Johnny had wrapped one of his mom’s red silk scarves around when he was fourteen, so the room had a slight red tint to it like a bad teen movie from the mid-2000s. He had also spray-painted the walls during a drug binge a couple of years ago, so even when the floor wasn’t covered in clothes and school supplies among various other aspects of Johnny’s discombobulated life, his room always had the air of messiness.

“The eagle is in the nest, huh?”

Johnny looked up at Mark from his place in the middle of his room, naked except for his underwear and two different shirts in his hands. A grin spread across his face. “Like it?”

Mark rolled his eyes again. “I don’t know why you insist on having a code word. It’s not like anyone else is going to see it.” Johnny sniffed one of the shirts in his hand before wrinkling his nose and dropping it back on the ground. Mark made a mental note to come in and collect laundry before the flight.

“Aw c’mon Cuz, it’s a lot more fun when there’s codenames.” Johnny shot him a wink. “It’s like we’re kids again.”

“Trust me I don’t need any more reminders that I live with a child. Remind me real quick, who’s the older one here?” Mark had a blank expression, but he knew his eyes gave him away. Johnny knew it too and he laughed, chucking an old sock at Mark’s head.

“I’m older by one year and I expect to be treated with the same respect.” Johnny said. He hopped over to his closet, putting on a pair of black track pants at the same time. With every step he got closer and closer to tripping over his own feet and Mark could only watch in amusement.

“Respect needs to be earned, old man.”

Johnny clicked his tongue. “Don’t call me ‘old man’ like it’s some sort of insult. I know plenty of old people who can still kick your ass. Wheelchairs and all.”

“I’m terrified.” Mark sat down on the bed and began pulling out the first aid supplies from his backpack and laying them out on the bed. “Where did you go last night?”

“Nowhere special.” Johnny called from inside the closet, out of Mark’s sight. “Just downtown.” His answer did nothing to alleviate the tight feeling Mark’s stomach always got whenever Johnny went out. He’s a bit surprised that after five years, it hasn’t killed him.

“Nowhere specific?”

A pause. “Just the usual hangouts.”

Mark looked up from the bed. “You paused.” No answer. “Hyung.” Johnny appeared in the closet doorframe, looking a bit guilty. Johnny could lie to everyone: his parents, his teachers, his friends, even to himself, but he could never manage to lie to Mark. A side effect of being raised like brothers.

“Hyung,” Mark repeated himself, this time slower. “Where did you go last night?”

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to not get mad.” Mark could not.

“Okay.”

“_Promise_.”

“I promise!”

“Englewood.”

Mark’s eyes bugged. “Hyung!”

Johnny winced. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad.”

“And _you_ promised that you wouldn’t get involved in that shit. You promised me when we were kids: _no gang stuff_.” Mark couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Look, I wasn’t _planning_ on going down there.” Johnny said, disappearing back into his closet. “It wasn’t my choice. You know how the guys are.”

“You’re being a bit too casual about this.”

Johnny reappeared with a white button-up on, damp hair pushed back.

“Mark, it’s fine. I made sure I didn’t get too involved. Only a few hits here and there, nothing serious. I’m not stupid.” He came and sat down across from Mark, carefree smile a complete parallel to Mark’s own anxious expression. “The moment shit started looking rough we dipped.” He leaned forward a bit as Mark began to spray antiseptic onto a cotton pad, head shaking.

“I just wish you didn’t lie about it. What if something had happened to you?”

“I made sure that nothing did. Plus, I needed a bit of a send-off. You know, a last hurrah or whatever.”

At this Mark bristled immediately. “Don’t remind me.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

“Says you. I don’t even speak the language.” Mark was whining, but he didn’t care. He usually prided himself on being fairly mature for his age, being able to handle whatever came his way, but being forced to move back to Korea after eight years of living in the US didn’t really fit the bill.

“You can learn. I’ll help you.”

“All my friends are here.”

“Pretty sure there are sixteen-year-olds in Seoul too.”

Mark pouted, handing Johnny a cotton pad to hold against his lip. “What if they think I’m weird though.”

“You are weird.” Mark threw a pack of band aids at Johnny’s forehead. “You’ll be _fine_. Plus, I’ll be there. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Johnny fixed his expression into one of steel. Mark gave him a small smile back, completely unaware of the weight Johnny’s words held. How could he? No one had ever told him what was awaiting him in Seoul.

It was something unspoken in their family: the reason why Mark was shipped off to live with Johnny and his parents in Chicago when he was eight; why Johnny began teaching himself how to throw a punch when he was thirteen and never stopped. Why they can never take public transit, or set foot onto certain streets once they landed in Seoul. Why Mark hadn’t seen his brother since he was seven years old.

The feud with the Lees.

“Thanks, Hyung.” Mark said, looking at his hands, the cotton pad in his grip was making the tips of his fingers go pruney. “But I don’t need you to babysit me.”

Johnny gave him a wink, nudging his shoulder. “I would never. Besides, I’m way more of an ‘au pair’ than a babysitter.” Mark rolled his eyes, snorting.

“You’re such an idiot.”

It was then that Johnny noticed what Mark was wearing. “Why do you have your school uniform on?” Mark looked down at himself, seemingly having forgotten too. He looked back up, cheeks pink.

He scratched the back of his head. “I, uh, I wanted to see if it fit—you know, before our first day and all…” Johnny reached over to the lapel of his blazer, where _Seoul Tech_ was embroidered into the fabric, and looked at it for a moment. It was the same school Mark’s brother had attended not too long ago.

He let the fabric go. “It looks good on you.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Yeah right.”

“I’m serious. You look older. Maybe we can finally sneak you into some clubs.”

“Wearing a high school uniform. Yeah, good idea Hyung.” Johnny would have smacked Mark in the back of the head if he wasn’t the best older brother/cousin in the world.

“Watch the lip. Don’t forget, I was there when you bleached your hair and got a perm. I have the photos saved and ready to disperse.” Mark clammed up immediately. “Do you have your tickets?”

“Yeah they’re on my desk.” Mark sighed.

“Good. Don’t want a repeat of Bali.” Mark paled at mention of the B-word. Nothing could ever compare to the nightmare that was a thirteen-year-old Mark and a fourteen-year-old Johnny trapped alone on the coast of Bali during what they were convinced was a hurricane.

“Hyung _please_.”

“So, are you gonna wear that until our flight, or…?” Mark blinked, coming out of his PTSD-induced flashbacks for a moment, before remembering what he was wearing and standing up abruptly.

“No of course not! I—I’ll go change now.” Mark, flustered, grabbed his backpack and speed-walked to Johnny’s door. Johnny just watched him, bemused expression on his face. But before Mark could leave Johnny remembered the small package lying under his bed.

“Hey, wait.” He called, leaning over to feel around on the floor. Mark stilled, hand on the doorknob. Johnny sat up and tossed something his way.

When Mark opened his hands, he was holding a 12-pack of graphite pencils, all different shades and lengths, with a blue ribbon shoddily wrapped around the middle.

“Happy birthday.” Johnny was grinning. “I figured you’d forget.” Mark forgot every year. In his defense, he had good reason to. It didn’t stop Johnny and his parents from wanting to celebrate though. _Every kid deserves a happy birthday_, his aunt would say every year without fail, hands in Mark’s hair.

“Hyung,” Mark said, soft smile on his face. “These are beautiful.”

“I know your collection’s pretty big already but the lady in the store said these were the best so…”

Mark held them close to his chest. “I don’t have them yet. Thank you so much.”

“Sixteen’s a big year, kid. Best to start it off with a bang.” Mark wondered what was more of a _bang_ than moving all the way across the world. “You better draw me something nice.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I’ll draw you something on the plane.” Johnny nodded. “Big cake this year?”

“Oh yes. Vanilla too.” Cake for breakfast was the Seo family birthday tradition. Mark thought it was the only good thing about his birthday.

“I’ll see you down there then.” Mark waved the box of pencils. “Thanks again, Hyung. I love them.” Johnny grinned and Mark pulled open his door, preparing to step back out into the breach.

♥♰♥

The only reason why Donghyuck knew it was August second was because it was the one day of the year he could always count on to have the worst luck.

Example number one: he got kicked out of a club. Well, it was technically example number two; example number _one_ was getting roped into a fight that resulted in him being kicked out of a club. But could you blame him? If there’s one thing Lee Donghyuck excelled at in life, it was fighting. And he would never pass up the oppourtunity to show off his skills.

For this particular incident, he blames Jeno.

Jeno has resting I’ll-kill-you-in-your-sleep-face. He was born with it: narrow and penetrating eyes, sharp eyebrows, and a mouth that always seemed to be sitting in a snarl. As a child, other children were always thrown off by his soft and sweet demeanour, confused when he would bound towards them, scowl on his face and hand-picked flowers in his hands. The older he got however, and the deeper his frown lines grew, the more his personality began to reflect how he looked on the surface.

Now, most people ran for the hills if they made eye contact with Lee Jeno. So, it came as quite a shocker when the guy Jeno happened to sweep his eyes over while nudging by at the bar asked him _what the fuck his problem was_, instead of immediately relocating to the other end. But this was August second. The unluckiest day of Lee Donghyuck’s life.

“You’re taking up the entire fucking bar, that’s my problem.” Jeno shot back, the hothead he always was. Jeno lived his life as an arrow—pointed and on edge at all times—and the tall stocky man to his right was rapidly becoming a big red bullseye.

“Come again?” The man with alarmingly long sideburns slammed his pint rather hard against the bar. Jeno glanced over out of the side of his eye, mouth still in its regular unamused line. “Wanna say that for me one more time, _kid_?” Jeno’s jaw clenched.

The man was about a foot taller than Jeno, with a scraggly beard and matching eyebrows. The rest of his long and sweaty hair was pushed back under a black bandana which matched his vest and pants. Your classic stereotypical biker dude. But no stereotypical biker dude was complete without an entourage of two similar looking buddies, which this guys had in spades. Real charmers, by the looks of it, the three of them. One glanced over at Jeno and nearly spat his drink out.

“Dude, that kid’s a fucking _Lee_.” He whispered gruffly, pointing obnoxiously at Jeno. “They own like half of Seoul.”

“I don’t give a shit who he is or what he owns. It sure as hell ain’t this fucking bar.” The man said.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I could buy your entire life quicker than it’ll take to knock you the fuck out.” Jeno growled.

“What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?”

“I said—” That’s when Jeno took a half-filled glass from the bar and smashed it over the biker’s head.

Donghyuck, who had been a bit busy with his arms around some girl in a short blue dress, looked over his shoulder at the sound of glass breaking. He was meters away from Jeno, but he could see his older brother’s red face clear as day, body tense and squared towards a group of older bikers that were definitely not worth whatever was about to go down. Not that this would ever deter Jeno: because while Donghyuck excelled at fighting, Jeno lived for it.

Donghyuck cracked his knuckles on instinct, turning to the girl nosing at neck. “My idiot brother’s at it again.” She looked up at him, confused, then over to the bar, her expression falling.

“Do you have to?”

He shot her a charming smile, pulling her closer. “Of course. A man’s got a reputation to uphold.”

“Okay, but don’t be long. I’m not very good at waiting.” She said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. His smile widened as he stared down at her. She was good. Probably going to be his girl for the night if everything went according to plan.

Not being able to resist, he wrapped his arm further around her, pulling her in for a kiss.

“Give me five minutes.”

He turned away then, smile falling and eyes narrowing in on his path from his spot to the bar. Jeno was already working on the two friends, the first guy still crouched on the ground, clutching his head. Jeno’s eyes were practically glowing with mirth as his fist met the jaw of one, foot catching the shin of the other. If Donghyuck waited much longer, there would be nothing left for him. Jeno could be greedy like that sometimes.

As he walked forward, people began parting for him like Moses and the Red Sea. He could feel the surge of power hitting him with every step, a determination flashing in his eyes. He may be only sixteen, and a slightly sloppy drunk, but he was a Lee on his family’s territory. So, he was basically royalty, and everyone there—if they were smart—knew that.

If Jaemin were next to him, he’d immediately remind him of the time he got so invested in a game of Mario Kart that he threw up all over the carpet. Jaemin never missed an oppourtunity to humble Donghyuck. Much to his disdain.

Speaking of which—

Donghyuck spotted Jaemin dancing a few meters to his right, eyes closed and body moving like a wave in the ocean. As much as he got under his skin, there was no denying that when Jaemin danced, he became magic.

Donghyuck whistled once, a short, high-pitched sound that made a few people around him wrinkle their noses. Jaemin stopped immediately, meeting Donghyuck’s eyes. Donghyuck nodded his head in the direction of the bar, and Jeno, who had grown nearly twice his usual size in adrenaline. Jaemin followed his gaze, eyes widening significantly, before he nodded and made a beeline for Donghyuck.

If walking by himself was powerful, moving as a unit was earth-shattering. Now, people seemed to sense them before they even turned around, moving like a school of fish in the opposite direction and away from the fury that was surely about to commence. Everyone knew what happened when Donghyuck got that look in his eyes.

Jeno was holding one biker by the collar, face red and teeth clenched, when Jaemin and Donghyuck reached the bar. There was a large gap between them and the rest of the crowd, allowing them to slip through. Most people were continuing on with their evening—well, _morning_ at this point—plenty used to the Lees and their ways, though there were a few who were staring in shock, eyes wide, and mouths hanging open. They were definitely new to Seoul.

Jaemin wrapped his arms immediately around Jeno’s shoulders, pulling him back and forcing him to drop the biker back to the ground. The first guy who had the glass smashed over his head was now fairly recovered and rising to his feet by the time Donghyuck stepped between them and Jeno.

“Evening, gentlemen.” Donghyuck said, smiling lightly. “Enjoying your time?”

“That fucking kid smashed a glass over my fucking head!” The first guy roared, pointing a meaty finger over Donghyuck’s shoulder at Jeno. Jeno burst into flame immediately. Luckily, Jaemin was a lot stronger than he looked, holding tight.

“Did he? Well that’s my brother for you. Quite the hothead, isn’t he?” Donghyuck put a hand to his heart. “My deepest apologies for his behaviour. You must understand, when faced with true idiocy he just can’t help himself. Trust me, it’s a problem we’re working on.”

The man blinked, looking away from Jeno and towards Donghyuck. His eyebrows wrinkled slightly. “I…_what_?”

“Listen, I understand your anger, truly I do, there’s nothing more irritating than getting shoved in a bar—in front of your friends too—by a guy who’s _clearly_ your physical underling. Not only that, but then that very same kid turns around and completely whoops your ass. It’s embarrassing.” Donghyuck continued, unfazed. “But you shouldn’t let this get to you. Physical combat isn’t for everyone, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You can’t be good at everything. Personally, I can’t draw to save my life. All I can do are stick figures, with like circles for feet and hands, and triangles for dresses if I’m drawing a girl. My third-grade teacher told me to stick to mathematics, that I had no future in the arts. We’ve all got our flaws, right?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The dude looked dazed now, his heavily intoxicated (and probably concussed) head barely staying upright on his neck.

Behind him, his friends looked at one another. “I think he’s fucking with us.” One said. “Didn’t he apologize though…?” The other mumbled, blinking slowly.

“Hey Hyuck,” Jaemin called from behind him. “Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to play with your food?” Donghyuck snorted. It wasn’t his fault these guys were easy. It was almost belittling.

Donghyuck picked up a drink sitting on the bar and took a small sip from it. It was rum, and it burned his throat in the best way possible.

“You’re right Jae,” Donghyuck said, placing the glass back down on the bar and giving the men in front of him the once-over. “Not worth it.” He turned to leave when he felt a beefy hand on his shoulder.

“Hey…” The biker said. “Did you just say I got my ass kicked by a kid?”

Donghyuck raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t you though?”

Within the span of five seconds, the biker’s face went from pale and confused, to bright red and angry. “Listen you little—” That’s when he lunged forward, giving Donghyuck no choice but to clock him right in the nose.

Cut to: Jeno curled up on the sidewalk, laughing hysterically, while Jaemin and Donghyuck leaned against the brick wall of the back of the club, sharing Jaemin’s last cigarette.

“It’s not that funny Jeno.” Jaemin said, eyes looking lazily on Jeno’s shaking figure. Jeno opened his eyes, wiping them for added effect.

“You kidding? I just got to witness Hyuck spouting nonsense at that guy for like, five minutes firsthand. I think you killed half of his braincells. I love having a brainiac little brother!” Jeno whooped at the sky, kicking his feet against the ground. Jaemin looked over to Donghyuck out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring up Freud or something.”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes. “Freud is a waste of time. Like, we get it, you’re obsessed with dicks and probably in love with Jung.” If Freud were here, he'd definitely have some interesting thoughts on the three of them and their underdeveloped superegos. 

“I mean, _I’m_ probably in love with Carl Jung.” Jaemin shot Donghyuck a cheeky smile. “Have you ever seen that moustache? Proper daddy material there.”

“For both our sakes, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Donghyuck took a long drag, turning majority of the cigarette to ash. He passed what was left to Jaemin who paused his snickering to mouth a small _fuck you_ at him.

Jeno sat up then, clapping his bruising hands together. “Okay. Now I’m hyped. We need to go somewhere else. I’m in the mood for another fight.”

“One of these days you’re gonna end up in jail and I am _not_ going to bail you out.” Jaemin said, flicking ash at Jeno. Jeno waved it away before jumping up and pulling Jaemin into a headlock. Donghyuck watched them fool around for a bit, Jaemin getting Jeno a couple times in the stomach before worming free and tackling him. Either Jeno constantly forgot that Jaemin had been the number one boxer in Seoul under sixteen literally up until his birthday this year, or he didn’t care. Like Donghyuck said, Jeno lived to fight.

Plus, they all knew no cop in Seoul would dare put any of them in jail.

“We could hit up the back-ends, that place is teeming with rich kids with nothing better to do than throw a few punches around.” Donghyuck suggested, blowing out some smoke into the sky and watching it disappear. He wished there wasn’t so much light pollution in Seoul so he could see the stars.

He’d never tell Jeno and Jaemin this, but a part of him wouldn’t mind buying some remote island and skipping out of Korea to live alone in a shack on the beach. Nothing but sand, water, and stars.

“You mean like you two?” Jaemin laughed, yanking Donghyuck back to Seoul. Jeno responded with a light punch to the side of his head. This set the two of them off again, chasing each other around the sidewalk and trading punches and kicks.

“Maybe someone fun will be there.” Donghyuck said, crushing the cigarette butt under his toe. 

“What? You mean that dude and his buddies Dumb and Dumber weren’t enough fun for you?” Jaemin said, coming to a stop next to Donghyuck. Jeno joined them on Jaemin’s other side, tucking his shirt back in from where Jaemin had yanked it out during their chase.

“They were practically begging for it. It was beautiful.” Jeno sighed dreamily.

Jaemin fake gagged. “Can we not sexualize a trio of nasty bikers with beer bellies please?”

“Oh but _Carl Jung_ is up for grabs?”

Donghyuck sighed. “If you took the collective braincells of those guys and every guy like them who I’ve ever met in my life, and smushed them together, it would equal one coherent thought. There’s just nothing there. It’s boring.”

Jeno rolled his eyes. “Join debate team if you want a sparring partner. Don’t go to some back-alley bar at two am.”

“Watch your mouth, that’s my god-mother’s establishment you’re talking about there.” Jaemin pointed his finger at Jeno. Jeno kicked at his shin.

“You should tell her to fire those bouncers for throwing out two Lees on _Lee territory_.”

Jaemin leaned back against the wall. “Whatever, we started it.”

“Still. What’s the point of having power if you never use it?”

“You use it all the time Mr. I’ve-Never-Paid-For-A-Drink-In-My-Entire-Life. That includes when we were kids.” Jaemin laughed.

“Neither have you.”

Jaemin covered Jeno’s giggling face with his hand, fighting the growing smile on his face. “Irrelevant.” Donghyuck snorted at the two of them. They were so in love with one another, Donghyuck could just drown in it.

“Okay you two lovebirds, I’m calling a car.” He said, pulling out his cell and pushing off the wall to absent-mindedly pace up and down the sidewalk as he typed a new address to their chauffeur. They would probably spend the rest of their night in the back-ends—a slightly sketchy area of downtown Seoul that was basically one giant fight club for trust fund babies like themselves—not heading back until the sun was rising and Jeno’s fists were properly black and blue. His hands were the only part of him that hinted at their nightly outings, while the rest of him came out squeaky clean. He was much too quick to get clipped. Donghyuck, on the other hand, often had to cover up cuts and bruises with makeup.

Where Donghyuck excelled in fighting, Jeno lived for it; where Jeno was refined, Donghyuck was careless. He didn’t care enough to dodge, even if he saw it coming a mile away. What was the point in putting on airs? Everyone knew what they got up to once the sun began to set. Besides, he liked the feeling. Like taking a shot of rum to the face.

He was walking back over to Jeno and Jaemin, having sent the text, when he caught the tail-end of their conversation:

“—getting in tomorrow.”

Jeno’s eyes were bugging: “There’s no fucking way.”

“What’s _no fucking way_?” Donghyuck crossed his arms in front of them, leaning to the side. He could feel himself sobering up, they needed to get moving soon before there was nothing left in his system.

“Did you not tell him?” Jeno’s eyes were still huge as he spoke, leaving him looking like an insect. Jaemin shook his head, mouth a straight line instead of his usual lazy grin.

“Not yet. I only heard about it a couple hours ago from my mom.”

“Heard about _what_ Jae?”

Jaemin looked up at him seriously. “The Little Jung is coming back.” Donghyuck laughed, throwing his head back.

“Yeah, right, and I’m joining the national ballet.” Jeno did not laugh. Jaemin screwed his eyes shut. Donghyuck sobered up even more. “Wait. Are you serious? _Why_?”

Jaemin shook his head. “No idea. Apparently, he turned sixteen today—well, yesterday technically. He and his cousin—Jeremy, or Jordan, or whatever—are attending Seoul Tech this year.” Donghyuck’s hands itched for another cigarette. He wished he hadn’t smoked the other one so quickly.

His mind wouldn't stop reeling. _What the fuck_.

When the Little Jung left when Donghyuck was eight, everyone had just assumed it would be for good. _Donghyuck_ had assumed it would be for good. He was stupid. He should’ve known the Jungs would have a reason for sending their son to America. They’ve probably been training him, getting him ready for his return to Seoul—preparing to retake all the Lees had gained in the past eight years.

Donghyuck cracked his knuckles, teeth clenching dangerously. That couldn’t happen.

“When are they getting in?” He asked. He could feel Jaemin watching him warily.

“Sometime today.”

Jeno pushed off the wall, turning around suddenly and ramming his fist into it with a _crack_. Jaemin flinched. Donghyuck didn’t even blink.

“_Fuck_!” Jeno growled.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” Jaemin reasoned. “We don’t know why he’s coming back. Maybe his parents just miss him.”

“The Jungs don’t feel anything.” Donghyuck said. “They don’t have the capacity.”

“We can’t let this happen.” Jeno said, his skin catching on fire for the second time that night. “We can’t let the Jungs gain a single fucking inch in this city.”

“We won’t.” Jaemin reassured, putting a hand on Jeno’s shoulder. It put out some of the flames momentarily. “We have plenty of people on our side. What does he have? He’s been gone for years.”

“He’s got a lot of fucking nerve, that’s what he’s got.” Jeno grumbled. Silence fell among them for a moment. Jaemin looked over to Donghyuck, who had remained quiet for some time, eyes trained intensely on a stain on his shoes.

“Hyuck? You okay?”

Donghyuck took a deep breath, pressing down the nerves which were threatening to overtake him. “I’m fine.” He looked up at Jeno and Jaemin. “As far as I’m concerned, that kid is not going to know a moment’s peace from second he sets foot on Korean soil. We’re going to make him regret he ever thought of taking on the Lees.” Jeno grinned evilly.

The Jungs thought they could take and take and take whatever they wanted without consequence, but if Donghyuck had anything to do with it, Little Jung wouldn’t make it a month in Seoul.

This had shaped up to be a significantly terrible August second.


	2. Dream Interpretation is a Pseudoscience Anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry about the late update! I'm going to try to post a new chapter every Wednesday but depending on my work/school schedule it might be a bit late like this week! Still, I'm gonna do my best!
> 
> Hope you like it!

**_Tuesday morning. Eleven Days Before._**

_Taeyong’s dad had been hitting him again._

_His lip was split, and his cheek bone was an explosion of purple and red. Under his eyes there were dark circles from a lack of sleep, leaving him looking more like a ghoul than the Lee Taeyong who could walk into a room and blow the roof off. He looked so small, so insignificant, and all Jaehyun could do was hold him close, arms wrapped around his thin body and clutching him so hard that Taeyong couldn’t disappear even if he wanted to._

_“Live here.” He whispered into his ear, even though he knew Taeyong wouldn’t say anything. He felt Taeyong shiver against him, goosebumps forming on his forearms. Jaehyun rocked them away, humming softly into Taeyong’s hair. He could feel the sun rising in the sky, making the room warm even though it was the middle of December. There was a soft chatter as the birds started waking up with the day. The sound echoed around the room like they were in a music box._

_Jaehyun’s room was a renovated attic, where the roof was made of glass like a greenhouse so he could see the stars. He moved in when he was six and had immediately felt like he was a part of the sky, completely disconnected from the world below. He never shared that thought with anyone until the first time he brought Taeyong home to show him, and the impossibly skinny boy immediately lifted his arms and announced that Jaehyun’s room was floating through the air like a bubble. Jaehyun was beaming for the rest of the day._

_Two years later, they discovered that if they popped the screen out of his bedroom window, it would open outwards onto the roof like a balcony, allowing them to slip in or out undetected. Jaehyun didn't really have any need to use it though, it was more Taeyong who took advantage, and Jaehyun soon learned to always leave the window open a crack before going to bed._

_The best days were when Jaehyun would wake up pressed into Taeyong’s chest, warmth spreading to his toes with every breath Taeyong took. Taeyong may be able to blow the roof off, but he also brought in all the sunshine._

_“Are you going to go to school today?” Jaehyun asked, rubbing his hand up and down Taeyong's back. If it weren't for the thick sweater Jaehyun had wrapped him in, he would be able to feel all of Taeyong's ribs._

_“Maybe. I could just tell everyone that I got into a fight last night.” Taeyong’s chin was propped on Jaehyun’s shoulder, their chests pressed together, so neither of them could see the other’s face. This was how they communicated as kids too: it made talking easier when they couldn’t see each other’s faces. They had sat back to back then, barely touching, both of them afraid of getting too close and discovering what their feelings meant._

_Jaehyun smiled. “I could back you up, say I was with you.”_

_“That would be great. I’ll tell them that you got some good hits in too.”_

_“Too bad I don’t look like I was in a fight.” Jaehyun looked down at his spotless hands._

_“If anyone asks, just tell them that you're good at dodging and you only go for the stomach. That way your hands don't get so bruised.” Taeyong said. He sounded exhausted. Jaehyun hugged him harder, hiding his nose in Taeyong’s neck._

_Taeyong flinched. “It’s so warm in here, your nose shouldn’t be that cold.”_

_“Sorry. My body doesn’t take the winter well.”_

_“Mine neither. You’d think I’d be used to it now, considering how often my dad turns off the heat to my room.” Taeyong was smiling, Jaehyun knew, like he always did, despite the pain he was in. It made Jaehyun’s whole body ache, from his chest out, like a disease spreading through his bloodstream._

_“Live _here_.” He repeated himself, almost desperate. Taeyong pulled away and cupped Jaehyun’s face gently, as if Jaehyun was the one with all the pain._

_“I wish I could.” His eyes roamed all over Jaehyun’s face. Jaehyun reached up and ran a finger over his split lip. Taeyong didn’t even wince._

_“You _can_.”_

_Taeyong shook his head. “I don’t want your parents to find out. I would rather die—”_

_“Don’t say that.”_

_Taeyong blinked. “It wasn’t a prediction or anything.”_

_“Still.” Jaehyun had to look down at their legs. “I don’t want you to say that. You can’t say that to me.”_

_Taeyong leaned in and kissed Jaehyun’s cheek lightly, leaning their foreheads together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you ended up like this too.”_

_Jaehyun closed his eyes. “You're still so beautiful.” Taeyong laughed, the playful glint Jaehyun loved flashed in his eyes for the first time in days. _

_“Just wait until you see me in the spring, you know I truly thrive in the spring.”_

♥♰♥

The flight from Chicago to Seoul was fourteen hours and five minutes and Mark felt every second of it. It was non-stop too, so there wasn’t even any time to walk around besides up and down the aisle to go to the bathroom.

Instead, he made use of his birthday presents: a new set of _Strathmore_ sketchbooks, a pair of black wireless _Beats_, and his pencils from Johnny; trying his best to disappear back into his personal alternate dimension of peace and quiet and not think about all he was leaving behind.

He couldn’t imagine waking up in a bedroom without the view of the street he grew up on; the sunrise wouldn’t be the same, or the smell, or the people. Even that young couple who had risked it all for their love were now six thousand miles away from him. The thought made him want to melt into the side of the plane.

He was sketching the image of the woman leaning through the window of her husband’s car when a piece of bread hit him in the side of the head. He rolled his eyes and peaked over the side of his suite.

“Can I help you?” He asked Johnny, who was pretending to be watching the movie playing in front of him, a slice of bread in his hand. After a second, he looked over at Mark as if he had just noticed him there, and pulled out one of his _AirPod_s.

“Sorry, did you say something?” He said in faux confusion. His eyes were comically wide, eyebrows disappearing into his bangs and mouth hanging open.

“Quit throwing bread. I’m busy.” Mark said, tossing the piece of bread back and nailing Johnny perfectly between the eyes.

“Hey!” Johnny laughed, wiping his face. Mark couldn’t help but giggle too, looking around to see if anyone was looking their way. Luckily, the walls to each suite were tall enough that, while sitting, each passenger was boxed into their own little worlds, completely cut off from view. Only the wall dividing Mark and Johnny was low enough to peak over.

“You’re a menace.” Mark whispered. Like the mature seventeen-year-old he was, Johnny stuck his tongue out in retaliation.

“What’re you drawing?” Johnny asked, taking his other _AirPod_ out. They were blue with black _J_’s on the backs—Mark’s Christmas present to him this year. Johnny rarely went anywhere without them, called them his modern-day evil eyes.

Mark held up his half-finished drawing. Johnny squinted, trying to get a better look before giving up and waving his hand. Mark passed him the sketchbook and Johnny inspected it for a second. An impressed grin broke out across his face.

“Mark this is really good.” He said. Mark rolled his eyes.

“You say that every time.”

Johnny shook his head. “That’s because it’s true. Every time. Your people are getting really good.” He turned the sketchbook to its side to get a different angle. “They look so real.”

Mark watched him, cheek leaning on the wall. “Thanks. I’ve been watching more YouTube tutorials on portraiture. They’ve really been helping. I’m still having trouble with feet and hands though.” _And perspectives_, he thought ruefully, catching a glimpse of the car hood which was _way_ too big for the angle he was drawing it at. And the door of the house was sitting wrong against its frame. If he kept looking at it like this, he’d be better off erasing the whole thing and starting again.

“You’re crazy. Her feet look fine.” It was Johnny’s turn to roll his eyes. He began to absent-mindedly flip through the pages. Mark reached out his hand weakly to stop him, but he knew it was no use: when it came to social cues regarding artists and their art—not that Mark was anywhere close to considering himself an _artist_—Johnny had none. He just flipped through where he seemed fit.

He flipped through Mark’s quick sketch of his old classroom, a really crude image with the darkest, thickest shade of black he could find, so that it resembled charcoal more than lead; and his more detailed practice of floating body parts—hands, eyes, noses, etc.; before finally landing on the first page of the sketchbook, where Mark had done a light sketch based on a family photo they took a few years ago.

They had been posed in front of their house, almost too large to fit in the entire frame of the photograph, smiles wide and arms all around each other. Mark chose not to include them (he had plenty of drawings of his family already), instead drawing only the house. He didn’t want to forget a single piece of it. From its eight square windows with thick black frames, to its large front stairway leading up to the porch and white columns, Mark made sure it was all there in complete detail.

Johnny hesitated, eyes scanning every inch. “Mark this…” He trailed off before lifting a finger and tracing along the side of the paper. “Can I have this?” Mark rolled his eyes and made a grabby motion, yanking his sketchbook back when Johnny tilted it his way.

“No, you cannot.”

Johnny pouted. “But you said you’d draw me something on the plane.”

“Technically I drew this in the airport.”

“Liar. Where was I?”

Mark flipped the book closed. “Waiting in that long-ass Starbucks line.”

Johnny looked away, mumbling something that sounded distinctly like “_fucking Frappuccinos_” before throwing his hands up in the air. “Well I want a copy for my room, can’t you, like, trace it for me?”

Mark pretended to think for a moment. “I guess.” Johnny whooped so loud Mark was surprised people didn’t start throwing things their way. “But don’t be all pissy if it doesn’t come out looking perfect. I’m still working on duplicates.”

Johnny pressed his palms together in a prayer, wide smile on his face. “I promise.”

The rest of the flight, Mark attempted to copy the picture, though Johnny’s constant interruptions of _is it done yet_ made it increasingly difficult. By the time the plane touched down on the tarmac, half of the house was completed and almost looked better than the original. Mark wondered if Johnny would even notice if he gave him the first one instead of the copy.

The smell of the air once they stepped out of the plane was surprisingly similar to Chicago in terms of classic city-smell, only times a hundred. The humidity seemed to take the sweat and rubber and gas and amplify it to the point where Mark had to stop and take a deep breath into the collar of his shirt, ignoring the sweat that was already dripping down his face. Johnny, on the other hand, took a big whiff of the air and placed his hands on his hips happily.

“Just as I remember it.”

Mark rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised the earth didn’t tilt with it.

Johnny’s contented nature didn’t last long however, as the moment they began walking towards the shuttle to take them to the airport, a man in a blue suit appeared at their side.

“Johnny Seo?” He asked. He was almost as tall as Johnny, with a clean-cut look and slightly stressed look that reminded Mark a lot of his uncle. Johnny nodded and the man leaned in to whisper something, making Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, smile falling instantly.

“Seriously?” He said. Blue Suit nodded, before saying something else in rushed Korean and marching off in the opposite direction without another word. Mark’s eyes followed him until he disappeared around a corner. Johnny sighed, drawing Mark’s attention back. Johnny was looking off into nowhere with a frown on his face, the same look he got when he was trying his best to ignore someone, or something, that was nagging at him.

“Johnny?” Mark said. “What’s wrong?” Johnny took another deep breath before turning to face Mark, expression serious.

“There’s paparazzi all over the airport waiting area, so the airline is going to take us another way to meet our driver.” There was so much about that response that would have made Mark laugh if not for Johnny staring so intensely down at him.

“Paparazzi.” Mark repeated.

“Yes.”

“Here.”

“Correct.”

“For us.”

“Yep.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

At this, Johnny faltered a moment, eyes leaving Mark’s to squint up at the sky.

“I don’t really know how to put this, but,” Eyes back on Mark. “Your parents, the Jungs—our family—they’re kind of a big deal here.”

Mark frowned. “Define ‘big deal’.”

“Think Kim Kardashian and Kanye West big deal.” Mark’s mouth dropped open and he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped this time.

“You’re kidding.”

Right on cue, a black car pulled up next to them and Blue Suit got out, hurriedly waving them over. No, apparently Johnny was _not_ kidding.

Johnny walked over without hesitation, whereas Mark could only gawk, his mind unable to wrap around whatever was happening right now. He knew his family was rich, he grew up in a mansion in one of the richest neighbourhoods in Chicago for goodness sake, and his parents always sent him expensive presents every holiday: for his fourteenth birthday, they sent him keys to a car he couldn’t even drive yet. In hindsight, maybe that was the first hint that he would be coming back to Korea. A little whisper of, _guess what’s waiting for you back in Seoul—a Mercedes!!_ But he never would have imagined they were paparazzi-ambushing-them-at-the-airport level rich. It was almost celebrity status.

It made Mark realize just how little he really knew about his parents.

“Mark!” Johnny called over from where he was waiting, leaning against the back door of the car. “Come on!”

Mark shot a longing look back at the shuttle bus, which was now driving away from them towards the main entrance to the airport, carrying the rest of the first-class passengers, before jogging over.

“What about our luggage?” He asked, slipping in next to Johnny.

“Already waiting in your car, Sir.” Blue Suit answered for Johnny, smiling tightly at the two of them from the passenger seat.

Mark felt insanely awkward as he gave the man a wobbly smile and mumbled a “thank you.” Even though they were wealthy in Chicago, so was everyone around them, so they were never ‘catered to’, really. This felt like a whole other level. Scrap Kim and Kanye, Mark felt like the Queen of England.

He shot Johnny a look. Johnny smiled back easily, though there was some tension in his jaw when he looked back out the window. For what reason, Mark couldn’t say. He made a mental note to ask Johnny about it when they were alone.

They drove around the side of the airport and down a ramp into a tunnel that was straight out of a spy film, popping out into a completely empty underground parking lot where two large black cars and five men in dark suits and sunglasses were waiting for them.

“Are we being kidnapped?” Mark couldn’t help but ask in very broken Korean. Blue Suit laughed.

“Your car, Sir.” He said in English, motioning towards the window, like it was any sort of explanation for the curveball after curveball being thrown Mark’s way.

Their car stopped and Blue Suit hopped out just as one of the men waiting for them stepped forward. He was shorter, with a thinning hairline and warm smile on his face. He was also the only one without sunglasses, and wearing a white shirt under his suit. Blue Suit rushed over to him and bowed deeply, exchanging bits of what seemed to be a very anxious report. The shorter man only nodded in response, unfazed.

Johnny was the next to hop out, rushing over to the two men and taking the shorter man’s hands in his, bowing low as well. He clearly knew the man—acting almost like an excited puppy in his presence—and the man was also clearly important, considering everyone’s reactions to him—

A thought hit Mark right between the ribs. This man, he couldn’t possibly be Mark’s _dad_, could he? He was obviously the boss of everyone else here, plus he seemed to be the right age. His shoulders didn’t slump forward the same way Mark’s did, and he had a different chin, but those could be things Mark inherited from his mom. Plus, this man looked kind, and _normal_. Not at all like some kind of mystery Korean celebrity. He looked like someone Mark would be proud to call his father.

Mark watched them, forehead pressed up against the glass and completely enraptured at the image of a man who could very well be his father only a few feet away, before a knock on his window made him jump.

“Sir? Are you okay?” It was the driver. Mark hadn’t even noticed him getting out of the car.

Mark nodded, embarrassed, before pulling on his backpack and putting his hand on the handle. The driver opened the door for him before he could fully gather his bearings, and he felt himself stumbling face-first out of the car. Luckily his hands—brilliant things that they are—caught him before he could smash his nose on the asphalt. The moment he restored his balance, he found all eyes were on him.

Scrap Queen of England, Mark was Thomas Edison pitching the lightbulb to a room of 19th century salesmen.

“Would you believe that wasn’t intentional?” Mark said and Johnny metaphorically and literally face-palmed.

The man in the white shirt was in front of him immediately, warm smile still on his face despite Mark’s bumbling self. “Young Master Jung.” Okay, so definitely not his dad. The anxiety quelled in his stomach, but it was quickly replaced by slight disappointment. “Welcome home.”

Before Mark could do so, the man was bowing, practically touching his toes, and everyone around him was doing the same. Mark looked helplessly to Johnny, who only shrugged, fairly amused by Mark’s inner torment. He was definitely _not_ getting the better drawing of the house.

“Um,” Mark said, intelligently. “Thank you but that’s really not—you don’t need to bow for me.”

The man straightened back up and Mark could see his tie had little sailboats on it. “How was your flight?” He asked in relaxed, albeit slightly accented, English.

“Good?” Mark said.

“I’m sure you must be tired from your long trip.” The man said, smiling. He kind of reminded Mark of the ‘kind-butler’ character you would see in movies: the one who would notice whenever the rich kid with daddy issues would get upset when no one else did. Mark wondered if he was supposed to be the rich kid with daddy issues. He figured that would take actually _knowing_ his father.

But then again, maybe that was a whole other issue within itself.

“You’re going to make yourself dizzy.” Kind-butler said. “Chasing your thoughts around in circles like that.”

Mark gawked again. “How—how did you—?”

Kind-butler simply smiled knowingly at him. “The mind was not built to be a merry-go-round Young Master. Now, let’s get you home. Your parents are quite anxious to see you.”

Mark looked to Johnny once more. Johnny was grinning in amusement, but underneath it all there was still a tension in his body, in the way he moved to throw his arm around Mark’s shoulders and lead him to one of the big black cars.

And when Mark turned to look back at the two men from the airport, they were watching him with simmering intensity. It was like everyone here knew something he didn’t.

Mark feared what they knew wasn’t good.

♥♰♥

Donghyuck awoke from a dream of hands pressing tightly around his throat with a gasp. His own hands flew immediately to his neck, feeling around for anything. Nothing there but his own skin. He could feel the adrenaline disappearing immediately, the pain from being suffocated quickly replaced by a sharp twinge in his neck from sleeping on a park bench.

He had been lying on his back, his head balanced at a poor angle on the metal armrest, while his feet were slung over Jaemin’s lap. Jaemin was still sleeping soundly, arms crossed over his chest and head lolled forward. Donghyuck leaned forward and slowly moved Jaemin’s head so that it was leaning to the side instead. It wouldn’t make a world of difference, but at least Jaemin’s neck wouldn’t be hurting as much when he woke up.

Speaking of hurt, Jaemin had a mean looking bruise sprouting on his temple from where his head had met a pipe earlier. Some drunk asshole had picked it up in the middle of a fight and started swinging it like a sword. Unfortunately for Jaemin, he had been caught in the crossfire. Jeno made quick work of the guy though, making sure he knew never to pull something like that again.

Donghyuck’s mouth curled at the thought of being hit over the head with a hollow piece of metal. The feeling of having your own brain bouncing around in your skull. He couldn’t say it wouldn’t hurt, but then again, there was no better way to snap to attention, like a splash of cold water first thing in the morning.

He chose to ignore the spark of jealousy that he had not been standing in Jaemin’s spot. _Reckless_.

“You’re awake.”

Donghyuck looked over to Jeno, who was sitting about a foot away in the grass. There was a lit cigarette in his mouth despite them having run out hours ago, and he was staring up at the sky. Following his eyes, Donghyuck was met with the sight of pale blue sky peeking through the shroud of tree branches. The green leaves were so thick it was almost impossible to see, but it was there. Donghyuck allowed a small smile to spread across his face.

They were sitting in possibly Donghyuck’s favourite place in the entire city. The only place he felt like he had any peace and quiet. It wasn’t a desert island, but it would do.

“How long was I out?”

Jeno blew a cloud of smoke at the trees. “Maybe an hour?”

Donghyuck held out his hand, and Jeno leaned over to hand him the cigarette. “Did you sleep at all?” Jeno snorted.

“We both know I don’t sleep.” Donghyuck did know. But he could also hope, for the sake of his brother’s health.

“Did you _try_?”

Jeno rolled his eyes. “Yes _Mom_, I tried. Shut my eyes for a whole five minutes.”

“You know it takes the average person at least fifteen minutes to fall asleep.” Donghyuck took a deep inhale, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment, before exhaling. The head rush was immediate, calming the remaining adrenaline in his veins. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a nightmare. He never dreamed, period, let alone of someone trying to kill him. It used to worry him enough that he would read anything and everything on dream theory that he could to find out why, and the theories were endless:

Freud believed that dreams were indications of unconscious desires—usually sexual, but Freud had always been a bit of a perv; Jung believed that dreams were the conscious and the unconscious parts of the brain working together to work through whatever it needed to work through. Even Henry David Thoreau was once quoted saying ‘dreams are the touchstones of our characters’, leaving thirteen-year-old Donghyuck wondering if his _character_ was so non-existent that even his brain went blank when left to its own devices.

“Okay brainiac, that’s enough fun-facts for now.” Jeno said as if he could hear Donghyuck rolling through his inner theory rolodex.

He smirked, pulling out his phone. “Thought you liked having a smart little brother?” He quickly typed _choking dream meaning_ into the search engine.

Jeno gave him a look. “Yeah. _Smart_, not annoying.” Donghyuck shrugged, only half-listening as he scrolled through one article titled _14 Dreams About Choking—meanings and interpretations_. None of it was good; emotional stress, unwilling to express emotions, excessive childhood trauma that has yet to be dealt with, a warning of oncoming danger…

He turned off his phone. Whatever. Dream interpretation was a pseudoscience anyway. 

“What were you doing before I woke up?” He asked Jeno, inhaling the cigarette until he was more smoke than man.

“Thinking.”

“How specific.”

Jeno’s eyes narrowed at nothing in particular. “Thinking about Little Jung.” Donghyuck’s heart rate spiked at that.

“Do you know anything about him?” He asked, trying his best to sound like he didn’t care.

Jeno shook his head. “Only the basics. I was only nine when he moved to the States. You were eight. It was about a year after—” Jeno cut himself off, choosing instead to rip a fistful of grass out of the ground. Donghyuck had barely let the smoke leave his lungs before he was taking another drag.

“Do you know why he was sent away?”

“Nah. I just remember waking up one morning to Jaemin calling me. The Jungs are such fucking cowards…” Jeno’s jaw was clenched tight, like he was about to snap it in half along with the rest of his skull. “He went to go live with his aunt and uncle and a cousin who’s my age. That’s all I really know. It’s been nothing but radio silence from them…”

“Until now.” Donghyuck finished with a snap. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring intently at the ground. _A warning of oncoming danger_…

“Until fucking now.” Jeno echoed. “Just when we got comfortable.” He was sneering, a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He was possibly still a bit drunk from earlier. Donghyuck wished he was too. He also didn’t know how Jeno could possibly be _comfortable_, Donghyuck hadn’t been comfortable for eight years. Like there were ants permanently crawling up his skin.

He looked up at his brother, the person who had taken Donghyuck under his wing without question the moment shit hit the fan when they were kids. The person he did everything with, and wished he could be as strong as. _His_ person.

Jeno looked angry. He looked like he could just throw his fist through the trunk of a tree without breaking a sweat. But he also looked scared. Donghyuck’s _person_ looked scared. With the way Jeno carried on, sometimes it was easy to forget he was only seventeen.

Donghyuck looked over to Jaemin, still sound asleep, only now his head was tipped back, looking about ready to fall off his neck.

“You should really fix your boyfriend.” He said to Jeno. Jeno looked over and at the sight of Jaemin, his eyes bugged comedically.

“Jesus Jae!” He gasped, jumping off the ground and practically shoving Donghyuck off the bench.

Donghyuck watched with an amused smile from the grass as Jeno carefully lifted Jaemin’s head back up with both of his hands and placed it on his own shoulder. Jaemin melted into him immediately, soft smile on his face. Jeno looked like he was having an internal battle with his blood vessels not to blush.

When he looked over at Donghyuck, his eyes narrowed. “_What_.”

Donghyuck shrugged. “Nothing Hyung, absolutely nothing. S’just cute, the whole doting boyfriend thing.”

Jeno effectively lost the battle, his entire face turning beet red. “He’s not my boyfriend. Quit saying that.” Donghyuck rolled his eyes.

“Hyung he’s been your boyfriend since you hit puberty.” Donghyuck rolled his eyes. “It’s a fact.”

“And I already told you, no more facts tonight.”

“It’s technically morning.” Donghyuck loved pushing his luck. Jeno narrowed his eyes even more. If looks could kill, Donghyuck would be dead on the ground right now.

“Don’t make me destroy you, I don’t wanna wake him up.” Jeno said through gritted teeth. Donghyuck couldn’t help but laugh. Jeno cracked a small smile despite himself.

Donghyuck looked back up at the slowly brightening sky. “What time is it anyway?”

Jeno shrugged lightly. “About six something I think. Why?” Donghyuck sighed and pulled out his phone.

“No reason. I just promised Doyoung I’d hang out with him today.”

“Why?”

Donghyuck gave Jeno a crooked smile. “He wants to discuss my university plans with me.” Jeno returned the smile immediately.

“Don’t you have a year left to figure it out?”

“He wants to make sure I’m prepared.” Donghyuck typed out a quick message to Doyoung. He wouldn’t be awake for another hour or so, so Donghyuck had time to drive home and nap and shower and change and pretend like he didn’t stay up all night destroying his liver.

Jeno was his older brother by blood, but Doyoung was his older brother in spirit. And he took this role very seriously.

“Hey, aren’t _I _the one graduating this year?” Donghyuck thought it was sweet that Jeno still thought he was graduating.

“Guess he’s given up on you.” Donghyuck wiggled his eyebrows. “For now.”

Jeno chuckled. “I'm terrified.”

“I think we’re gonna get lunch. Do you want in?”

“Nah.” Jeno sniffed. “I’m meeting Jungwoo and Guanheng later. We’ve got big party plans to discuss.” He whispered the last part, eyeing Jaemin with an evil grin on his face.

Jaemin’s birthday was in about ten days and every year Donghyuck and Jeno, along with whoever else they could rope into it (mainly the Kims and the Huangs) took turns throwing him the biggest party of the summer. It started off as a competition to see how embarrassed they could make Jaemin when they were kids, but it quickly evolved into a tradition amongst themselves to top each other every year. This year it was Jeno’s turn and he had started organizing months in advance.

“Does Doyoung know his young and impressionable brother is associating with you?” Donghyuck asked. Jeno pretended to look offended on Jungwoo’s behalf.

“Jungwoo’s old enough to make his own decisions. Plus, what Doyoung doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“And Mama Kun?” AKA, Guanheng’s eldest and most protective brother.

Jeno grimaced a bit. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Deal.” Donghyuck raised two fingers to his eyebrow in a salute. He didn’t want to deal with Huang Kun’s wrath any more than Jeno. “Anything you need me to do? You know I _am_ Jae’s best friend and all.”

“Please. First of all, we both know you can’t party plan for shit. You always get Renjun to do everything. Secondly, it’s my year so butt out.” Jeno said. “If you have to do something, keep Jaemin distracted while we’re working.”

Donghyuck nodded. “I’ll drag him to lunch with me.”

Jaemin rubbed his head a bit against Jeno’s shoulder, wincing when his bruise nudged a button on Jeno’s jacket. Jeno watched him quietly, not even daring to breathe until he was settled.

“Make sure to get his face looked at too. Can’t have him going home looking like this, Mom will kill us for getting her favourite son all banged up.” Jeno and Donghyuck simultaneously rolled their eyes.

“No, I was actually planning on hitting it a couple more times, really make sure it stays black and blue until his birthday.”

Jeno kicked at the air near Donghyuck’s legs. “I’ll fight you.”

“I’d like to see you try—”

Just then, the breathy sound of Hyuna’s voice interrupted the stillness of the park, loudly telling them to touch her but not to touch her and Jaemin jumped off Jeno’s shoulder like he had been shot.

“Stupid fucking alarm…” Jaemin mumbled, scrambling to turn his phone off. Donghyuck and Jeno snickered as Jaemin sighed in relief at the silence that was once again surrounding them, slumping back onto Jeno’s shoulder. “It can’t be seven already…”

“Well it is princess,” Donghyuck said, a bit louder than necessary. Jaemin gave him the finger. “Rise and shine.”

“Five more minutes.” Jaemin mumbled.

“No more minutes.” Donghyuck jumped to his feet and dusted off his pants. “We already gave you like two hours.”

Jaemin squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. “It’s not my fault that I need more than five minutes of sleep to function.” Donghyuck ignored this, choosing instead to kick the soles of Jaemin’s shoes until Jaemin got fed up and tackled him to the ground.

“Remind me again why I even associate with you two still.” Jaemin said from his place sitting atop Donghyuck’s stomach, holding his thrashing legs down.

“Because we give you a king-sized bed to sleep in and a hundred-won allowance.” Jeno said without missing a beat. Jaemin seemed to consider this a moment before standing up and releasing Donghyuck from his death grip.

“That _hurt_.” He whined. Jaemin rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, big baby.” He still helped Donghyuck to his feet.

“That’s it. You’re coming to get lunch with me and Doyoung today. No exceptions.” Donghyuck rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck a couple times. Jaemin made a face.

“Jokes on you, I love Doyoung Hyung. It’s only a punishment for you two.” He said. “You’re just scared cause he’s not afraid to drag you two to filth.” Jaemin was lucky Donghyuck loved him so damn much, or else he would be swinging right now.

Jeno was watching them with a mix of amusement and boredom, fingers playing with a cigarette he seemed to conjure out of nowhere.

“We done measuring dicks now?” He said, standing up and sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

Jaemin squinted. “What, do you just pull cigs out of your ass or something?”

Jeno poked Jaemin in the face, right where his bruise was. “We gotta get home. You’ve got a lunch date to get ready for.” Jaemin hissed and batted his hand away. “And knowing you two, you’re both going to need at least a two-hour nap beforehand.” He wasn’t wrong. Donghyuck could feel the sleepiness coming on, making his eyelids droop. Jaemin didn’t look much better.

“Okay then,” Jeno smirked. “I’m gonna call our driver. Try not to pass out while I’m gone.”

Once Jeno was on the phone, out of ear shot, Jaemin whirled on Donghyuck.

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice quiet. Donghyuck gave him a look.

“Yeah? Why?”

Jaemin was eyeing him. “You’ve been acting strange since the news about the Jung kid coming home.” Donghyuck could feel his shoulders straightening, his composure becoming bristly all over.

“I’m fine.”

“You know it’s okay not to be.” Jaemin said, stepping a bit closer. “No one would judge you—”

“I said I’m fine Jae.” Donghyuck snapped. “Drop it.”

Jaemin’s eyes scanned his face to see if he was lying. Donghyuck knew he could read him like a book with size 48 font. It didn’t mean he didn’t try to stay as tough as he could.

“I know you’re not fine.” Jaemin said finally. “But I will let it go. For now. We are going to talk about this soon, I hope you know.” Donghyuck didn’t doubt it. When Jaemin got his therapist hat on, there was no diverting him.

“Okay.” Donghyuck sighed. “Later.”

Jaemin nodded. “Later.” Behind him, Donghyuck could see Jeno walking back over, slipping his phone back into his pocket. The cigarette in his mouth was lit and already halfway turned to ash. Donghyuck thought about asking his brother if he was part chimney.

“Car will be here in five.”

Their car rolled up exactly 239 seconds later, a sleek black Mercedes SUV with tinted windows-- their 'incognito' car. Like always, Jeno took the backwards seat, which faced away from the driver, allowing Donghyuck and Jaemin to sprawl out and take up the rest of the space. He rolled his eyes as Donghyuck kicked off his shoes and Jaemin began tossing his rings onto the floor lazily. When they were both settled, Donghyuck swiveled around, putting his head down on Jaemin's lap and his feet up near the window on his side, giving him a perfect view of the sky as they drove home. There were only a few minutes of peace before Jaemin began interrogating Jeno on his secret plans for his upcoming birthday party. Donghyuck watched the sky in silence. It was much brighter now; people would be getting up and getting ready for work, walking their dogs, making coffee.

Donghyuck couldn’t imagine doing something so normal. So mundane. Not when there was a life full of alcohol and adrenaline and recklessness. Not when all of Seoul was about to turn on its head.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly, he was falling into his bed, his face sinking into the soft mattress and silk sheets. He didn't remember the car pulling up the driveway, nor getting out and walking upstairs, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his bed was so warm and inviting, and he only had a couple hours to rest up before meeting Doyoung and whoever else Doyoung was surely going to drag along with them.

Sleep had almost completely overtaken him when he felt a hand in his hair, combing it back gently.

"Sleep tight, Hyuck." A soft voice said in his ear. Donghyuck could feel them sitting next to him on his bed. He could feel their warmth all the way down to his toes.

"Night, Hyung..." Donghyuck whispered back, falling back asleep as the rest of the world woke up.


	3. The House With No Roof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!  
I'm so sorry that I've been gone for so long, life kind of got in the way unfortunately!  
So I may have to redact the promise to update every week, but I will be continuously working on this story since I'm a bit of a fan of it.  
I hope this chapter lives up to the suspense!

Mark’s Korean must be worse than he thought because he could have sworn that the driver just pulled up to a mortared stone wall at least seven feet in height and said _welcome home_.

The wall was perched atop a small hill of grass and made out of thick chunks of rock, each greyer than the last, with lines of cement to fill in the gaps. It looked to be at least a couple hundred years old, like someone had cut a chunk out of the Great Wall of China. Leading up to it was a small staircase, also made of grey stone. The only thing Mark could see that wasn’t stone was an intricate black iron gate at the top of the staircase, the entrance to whatever the heck was beyond the wall. Certainly not Mark’s family home. It was impossible. Mark had to be dreaming. This whole day was just a concoction of Mark’s vivid imagination—it was all just becoming more and more surreal.

But then Johnny was grabbing his bag and jumping out of the car excitedly, along with Kind-White-Shirt-Butler, and their various staff were unloading Mark’s suitcases from the trunk.

“Mark come and help.” Johnny called from the back of the car, where he was helping with their luggage. Mark took one last wide-eyed look at the wall looming over top of them and climbed out of the car.

He rounded the back and began to silently help pick up his suitcases. His hands were shaking, making him fumble with one of his bags.

“Young Master Jung, would you like some help?” One of the staff asked, staring at Mark through his matte black sunglasses. Mark tried not to shrink back into himself. He shook his head, mumbling a soft _no thank you_ before rushing over to Johnny, who was waiting for him at the foot of the staircase, hands suddenly empty.

“Where’s all your stuff?” Mark asked, looking around them for Johnny’s mysteriously vanishing suitcases. Johnny gave him a weird look, motioning ahead of them. It was then Mark noticed the group of at least ten butlers—at least that’s what Mark was guessing they were— standing on the stairs, dressed in black tuxedos, some holding Johnny’s suitcases, and the rest waiting for Mark’s.

“Oh.” Mark said. There was a pause, everyone’s eyes once more on Mark, before he stuck his hand out, offering a bag to one of the butlers. They took it quickly with a nod of their head. The rest followed suit, coming to unload Mark like a pack horse, until he was left with only his backpack on.

“Young Master?” A butler asked, motioning to the backpack. Mark’s hands automatically flew to the straps, pulling them across his chest like a shield.

“No, that’s okay. I’d like to carry it.” He looked at the butler’s face, then Johnny’s, then back to the ground. “If that’s okay.”

The butler bowed. “Of course, Young Master Jung.” And they were off. A whole army of men in black and white marching through the gate and up a stone path towards who knows what. Mark watched silently until they were all gone, hands still clutching his backpack like a lifeline. It wasn’t until Johnny nudged him with his shoulder that he remembered to blink.

“You ready?” Mark didn’t say anything, but Johnny didn’t wait long enough to hear, already bounding up the steps and opening the gate. Mark followed him quickly, almost afraid that if he didn’t everyone would forget about him in their excitement.

He paused at the top, turning to take one last look down at the two cars, which were still idling on the road. Standing outside one of them was the older butler with the sailboat tie from the airport, who had ridden in the same car as Mark and Johnny, up in the passenger’s seat. He had made small conversation with Johnny and the driver, but other than that had remained silent the whole drive. Mark still didn’t know his name.

The man caught Mark staring. “Young Master?”

“I just realized I don’t know your name.” Mark said.

“Mr. Nakamoto, Young Master.” Mr. Nakamoto said, bowing. Mark bowed back.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Nakamoto.” He said.

“And you, Young Master Jung. It’s been a while.”

Mark felt his eyes widening. “We know each other?”

“Yes, sir, since you were a baby.” Mr. Nakamoto smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides. When he smiled like this, he reminded Mark a bit of the Santa Claus on the backs of Coca Cola bottles.

“I’m sorry.” Mark said sheepishly. Mr. Nakamoto seemed like someone Mark would have liked to remember.

“Do not apologize Young Master, you’ve traveled a long road for someone so young.” 

“Do you always speak in metaphor or is it just me?” Mark asked in a moment of boldness. For a moment he was worried if had just been insanely rude, but Mr. Nakamoto’s smile only grew bigger.

“Try not to get lost, sir.” With a final bow, Mr. Nakamoto climbed back into the passenger’s seat of the car and drove off, leaving Mark alone at the gate. Mark watched as the car rounded the corner of the private road they had taken up to the house, disappearing behind some trees. Lost? How could things possibly get _more_ confusing?

The private road that led up to the wall was long and winding, surrounded by a tunnel of trees, which made Mark feel as though he was being transported to a different world, somewhere beyond the rest of Seoul. The trees didn’t break until they arrived at the base of the wall.

If Mark were to get lost, surely it would be trying to leave, not trying to enter. So, with a deep breath, he turned to take his first look through the gate at the home he had left behind years ago.

Through the gate was nothing Mark had expected. Judging from the wall and the gate and the private entrance, he had been expecting some sort of eerie gothic castle. Like something out of a movie where the protagonist first arrives at the wrought-iron gates and a crack of lightning strikes just as they climb out of the car, signifying oncoming doom. But there was no lightning, or moat swarming with alligators along the perimeter, or hunchbacked old housekeepers, or haunted castle. Instead, there was a garden. The cobblestone path he had seen before was deep in a lawn of thick green grass, curling in between trees and flowers tall enough to touch the sky. It was like some sort of paradise. Had Mark really jumped dimensions without noticing?

Dazed, Mark pushed the gate open and stepped inside. He was met instantly with the scent of perfume, light and fresh, but powerful enough to lift him at least a foot off the ground. It took him a moment to realize it was from the abundance of flowers surrounding him, almost leaning towards him like moths drawn to a flame and trying their best to overwhelm him with their sweet scent.

To his left was a pond, with a small fountain in the middle, and bright orange fish swimming back and forth below the surface. To his right, there was a low white wall, with bursts of ivy overflowing from the top. Mark walked over to the wall, expecting to see a flower box, but instead he found that the wall overlooked a lower level of the yard, with a floating white staircase running down from somewhere else in the garden. There was a brown wood deck and table on the lower level and at least two different paths verging off back into the brush. This place was a maze. Maybe he should have taken Mr. Nakamoto’s warning more seriously.

Afraid of getting lost, Mark went back to the path, following it around a few bonsai pines and past a large willow which was curled over like a woman in mid-dance, until he reached a clearing and the house finally came into view—well, only part of it. Looking around, it dawned upon Mark that he had been in the house the whole time. What he thought was just a wall separating the house from sight was actually the front door. The entryway of the house was garden with no roof, and the rest was made of glass. Mark could see inside past the door into the hallway, and along the perimeter, where the house moulded with the shape of the garden. It appeared to be all hallways, lined with old paintings and grey and white marble floors.

Mark approached the glass door, standing on his toes to try to see further inside, and was surprised to find a man in a black tuxedo standing with his hands clasped behind his back. He waved his hand and the man immediately straightened up at the sight of Mark standing there, rushing to open the door.

“Young Master Jung, we’ve been awaiting you.” The man said half in English, half in Korean, with a voice so deep it was almost impossible to hear.

“Sorry,” Mark said, bowing. “I got a bit distracted by…well, you know.” He motioned behind himself. The man nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Quite beautiful, is it not?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t know a place like this could exist in the middle of a city.” Mark said. “I’d love to see more.”

“Let’s get you settled in then.” The man stepped aside, allowing Mark space to enter. “Follow me, sir.” The man began walking down a hallway leading away from the garden. Mark was almost sad to follow, turning to take one more quick look at the wonders outside before scrambling after the man.

He was led down a hall adorned with chandeliers and covered almost completely in artwork. From statues to paintings to tapestries, there was no piece of wall left uncovered. Mark tried his hardest not to gawk. It was impossible to imagine what it was like growing up here, and yet, he _had_. He had learned to walk in these very halls, had roamed the garden, brought friends home for playdates…it didn’t seem possible for this to be someone’s life, but it was. It had been his life somehow.

He only wished any of it looked familiar.

“Were there any renovations done?” Mark asked. The man looked at him over his shoulder.

“Reno…?” He sounded out the word, unsure. Mark racked his brain for the Korean vocabulary. He really wished Johnny were here. They practiced a bit on the plane but nothing over a grade five level.

“Um, was _work_ done on the house?” Mark asked in the best Korean he could manage. He motioned his hands around them. “Change?”

“Ahhh,” The man said. “No, no change. Master and Mistress Jung wanted everything to remain the same for your arrival.” This answer did nothing to alleviate the sick feeling that had suddenly overcome Mark.

“Where are we going?” He asked, hoping the answer might be a bathroom, so he could quickly throw up in the toilet and not all over the nice marble floor.

“Your bedroom, sir.” The man responded as they approached a pair of beige doors that practically touched the ceiling. He put his hand on one of the brass door-handles and swung the door open, revealing a room larger than anything Mark had ever seen before. Definitely bigger than his room back in Chicago.

The ceiling was about ten feet high and there wasn’t much inside except for a bed that looked like two king-sized beds smushed together, an ancient piano, another chandelier, Mark’s luggage, and two large windows framed with ivy. Looking down, Mark caught his reflection on the freshly polished wood floor, which was as dark and smooth as chocolate. It covered the entire expanse of the room, except for directly under the windows, where the wood morphed into the same marble tile that was in the rest of the house.

Mark knew his mouth was hanging open as he looked around. This place—his _bedroom_—felt more like a museum. It was so clean and empty that clearly no one had stepped inside let alone touched anything, in years. As he ran his hand lightly over the cream bedsheets, he half-expected to wipe away a layer of dust. Instead, his fingers were met with the softest fabric he had ever felt. It felt like he was running his hand over air.

“Mulberry silk.”

Mark turned to look behind him at the man still standing in his doorway, hands clasped in front of him. “I’m sorry?”

The man motioned to the bed. “The sheets. They are made from Mulberry silk. Feels like you are touching heaven.” It was more of a statement than a question, but Mark found himself nodding. There was a movement out of the corner of his eye, and Mark’s attention was drawn back towards the windows. One of them was opened a crack, and a light breeze was causing the ivy surrounding it to flutter. He didn’t need to touch it to know that it was a real plant, carefully maintained so that only a few strands ran along the floor. Outside the window, Mark could see nothing but garden.

“Is everything to your liking, Young Master?”

Mark’s stomach wasn’t churning anymore—it couldn’t possibly in a place so beautiful—instead he felt airy, not quite attached to the ground underneath him. This all had to be some kind of dream. His hands itched slightly for his sketchbook, so that he could capture everything before he woke up and it was all gone.

But at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to turn around and book it back to Chicago. Back to his real bedroom, with his aunt and uncle and Johnny; back to his home.

He opened his mouth to say all of this but nothing came out. After a moment, the man put his hand on the door handle and bowed slightly.

“I will leave you to unpack.” And he left.

Mark sank down onto the bed for half a milli-second before jumping back up because he couldn’t believe he had just done that. Looking down, there was a crease on the sheets from where his butt had touched the bed. Oh god. Oh _god_. He felt like he had just licked an original Monet.

He began to run his hands over the sheets, trying to smooth it all out, but ultimately made it a zillion times worse. Scrambling to the corner of the bed, Mark took the sheet and gave it a small tug to see if that would help, and accidentally yanked the entire thing onto the floor. _Oh GOD_. Mark let out an inhuman shriek and gathered the sheet up off the ground before it could get even more wrinkled. He was so focused on his task that he hadn’t noticed someone standing in his doorway.

“May I ask what the Young Master is up to?” Mr. Nakamoto said, and Mark screamed again. Mr. Nakamoto didn’t even blink at the sight of Mark clutching a thousand-dollar bedsheet like a lifeline.

“How long have you been standing there?” Mark whispered.

“Why are we whispering Young Master?” Mr. Nakamoto whispered back.

“I—” Mark cleared his throat. “I just—well…you see I sat down on the bed and I ruined it so I was just trying to fix it but I think I made it worse and—” Mark looked at Mr. Nakamoto’s expression. “And you think I’m crazy.”

“I do not. I think you don’t know how to make a bed.” Mr. Nakamoto walked over and took the sheet out of Mark’s hands, holding it by the corners and shaking it out. Mark watched in awe as Mr. Nakamoto’s hands moved effortlessly, folding the sheet until it was a small square sitting on the mattress.

“Shall I send for some new bedding sir?” Mr. Nakamoto asked when he was finished.

“No.” Mark said quickly, holding up his hands. “No, these are great. Mulberry silk.” Mark cringed at his own awkwardness.

“Excellent to hear.” Mr. Nakamoto nodded. If Mark hadn’t been so focused on his own inner torment, he would have noticed Mr. Nakamoto was loitering.

He glanced over at the man. He had changed out of his black suit into a light beige one that matched Mark’s bedroom doors. His sailboat tie was still tucked safely against his white shirt, only this time there was a small gold pin seated on its edge. Looking closer, Mark saw the pin was round, with a thick J engraved into the middle. Growing out of the top of the J was a cross, small but glowing. Mark had never seen the symbol before, he knew he hadn’t, and yet something about it made Mark’s hands shake. 

“Young Master,” Mr. Nakamoto said, softer than normal, which was pretty dang soft. Mulberry-silk-soft.

“You’re not here about my sheets, are you.” Mark said. Mr. Nakamoto shook his head. Mark took in a breath, turning to look out the window, back at the garden. If he jumped out and ran straight into the bush, he was sure nobody would be able to find him—well, maybe Johnny could. Johnny could find Mark in the middle of a hurricane.

“Your parents have been waiting for a while now.” Mr. Nakamoto was saying. “They wanted to give you time to settle but they are very eager. You do understand.”

“Is Johnny with them?” Mark asked, even though Johnny had happily abandoned him who-knows how long ago.

Mr. Nakamoto nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay then,” Mark took another deep breath, tearing his eyes off the garden, and flinging himself back into reality. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Nakamoto led Mark down another long hallway, away from the garden and deeper into the house. This time, instead of looking around, aghast, Mark kept his eyes straight ahead on the back of Mr. Nakamoto’s head. They turned another corner.

His body was swarming with nerves like a hive of angry bees was buzzing around his stomach and chest. He was going to meet his parents. The people who brought him into this world. The people who sent him away without a second thought and no reason. Mark’s hands were still shaking.

They rounded what seemed to be their hundredth corner and suddenly Mark was at the top of a large set of stairs, leading down towards what could only be described as a ballroom.

The space was large and wide, and had the same minimalism as his bedroom, with not much inside but two pink loveseats on either side of a low stone table and one beige chaise lounge in between them. Behind this set up, there was a large fireplace, mostly for decoration as the chimney was only a few feet high, with a carving of flowers in its middle. The whole thing reminded Mark more of an alter than a fireplace. And of course, there were the plants.

Two pots of purple pansies on every step leading down to the ballroom, like a runway; scatterings of large indoor planters lined along the floor in random arrangements; a few small collections of ivy and fern placed atop columns and stands—it never seemed to end. Mark thanked his lucky stars he wasn’t allergic to pollen. Or chandeliers, for that matter, as his eyes caught the gigantic gold and diamond chandelier hanging above them.

“What is this place?” Mark asked lowly. Everything was made of stone or marble in this house, and he was afraid if he spoke above a certain pitch, his voice would bounce around the room until the end of time.

“The living room sir.” Mr. Nakamoto said.

“Not very warm, for a living room.” Mark heard himself mumbling before he could think better of it.

“It is hard, sir,” Mr. Nakamoto whispered. “When all life has been stripped away.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Nakamoto didn’t answer, and soon they were at the table. He motioned to one of the pink loveseats and Mark sat down—well, hovered above it awkwardly is a better way of putting it. After his earlier fiasco with his bed, Mark didn’t want to take any chances.

He looked around himself for a moment, trying to keep the bees in his body sedated. “Where is everyone?”

“On their way, Young Master.”

“I thought you said they’ve been waiting.” Mr. Nakamoto stared back. Mark clicked his tongue. “Right. I forgot. _Metaphor_.”

“Sometimes the figurative can be just as painful as the literal.”

_ Yes, well I feel as though I am going to _literally _throw bees up all over you_, Mark felt himself about to retort when he heard the clicking of heels approaching them.

He stood up; eyes glued to the direction they were coming from. Something stirred inside of him. He recognized that sound even though his aunt only ever wore sneakers.

Anticipation was keeping him leaning forward, on the tips of his toes, about to take off, when a woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was breathing heavily, like she had been running, but her breath hitched when she and Mark’s eyes met. Mark froze too. Her hair was shorter than it had been, no longer needing to be held back in a low ponytail, and she was wearing a lot more jewelry than she used to—all pearls and gold. Mark had known her in jeans and t-shirts, hands deep in the dirt and sweat on her forehead, preferring to save high heels and dresses for business events or galas.

But despite all this, her face was the same. His mom was the same.

Mark’s hands unclenched and she surged forward, down the stairs at a break-neck speed, and engulfed Mark in her arms.

“My baby, my baby, my baby,” She sobbed into his ear. “You’re home. You’re _home_.” Mark was so shocked his arms were still at his sides, even as she pressed him closer, even as she kept repeating the same two things over and over, like a prayer.

Two other pairs of feet drew Mark’s attention back up the stairs, to where Johnny was standing with an older man who looked like Mark’s uncle, only more serious, with grey hair. His dad.

His mom pulled away and took his face in her hands, bringing him back to her. Her mascara was smudged brown under her eyes, and she was looking at him like she was looking at a ghost. He was sure he was looking at her the same way.

“Markie,” She said. Hearing her say his name, Mark felt as though his ribcage had been opened like a floodgate, and all of his anxiety and confusion released in masses of tears streaming down his face.

“Hi Mom,” He said. His mom smiled, crying too. This time when she pulled him in, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, breathing in a smell he had forgotten he missed.

Up on the stairs, Johnny and Mark’s dad stood in watch.

“He knows nothing about the feud, correct?” Mr. Jung asked, voice low.

Johnny nodded, eyes on Mark and his mom. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. For the time being.” Mr. Jung nodded. He made eye contact with Mr. Nakamoto and motioned his chin in the direction of the fireplace. Mr. Nakamoto bowed and left the room.

“Where’s he going?” Johnny asked.

“Mark needs to get ready. I don’t want him getting tainted like his brother.” Mr. Jung said, and the words felt like lead in Johnny’s ears.

“He won’t.” Johnny said, determined. “He’s with us, one hundred percent. I promise.”

Mr. Jung looked over at Johnny and suddenly, Johnny was five feet tall and nine years old again, promising Mark’s parents that he would protect him with his life.

“He better be. He’s all we have left.” Mr. Jung said with finality, before turning towards the stairs and heading down towards his wife and son. Johnny watched as Mr. Jung’s demeanor changed as he approached them, how he grew softer, and took both Mark and Mrs. Jung in his arms like a picture-perfect family. He watched as the Jungs practically danced around Mark, smiling bright enough to power all of Seoul. He watched as Mark melted into them like honey in tea.

He knew the house would woo Mark, it wooed everyone. Mrs. Jung used to tell Johnny and his friends that the house was built for the gods, but then it accidentally fell to earth, right on top of them. He was seventeen now and he still believed it to be true.

Mark fell for the magic faster than most, fallen for his family faster. He had always been sweet and sentimental. Johnny couldn’t count the amount of times he had to wrestle Mark’s favourite toys out of his hands to wash them, or sing Mark Korean lullabies to get him to sleep. Sure, Mark could be tough, especially when it came to protecting those he loved. But Johnny had no idea whether Mark could be tough enough to do what needed to be done. Not for people he had forgotten how to love eight years ago.

** _Sunday evening. Five Years Before._ **

** **

_“Have you told your parents yet?” Taeyong whispered into the phone. On the other end of the line, he heard Jaehyun hum. This was Jaehyun-code for ‘no’. Taeyong couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised, when it came to his parents, Jaehyun was a locked box, keeping what Taeyong considered to be his best parts, away in the dark. Even when it really wasn’t a big deal._

_“It’s just arts school.” Taeyong said, picking at a piece of loose shag carpet. He was laying on the ground of his bedroom, the side of his face pressed into the carpet, and cellphone balanced on his ear. He always loved laying on the floor even if it was extremely ugly and outdated; it was the only place in his room that was always warm._

_Jaehyun snorted. “You obviously haven’t discussed the arts with my dad. It’s not even an option.” Taeyong didn’t know what to say back. He had grown up with Jaehyun’s family like an extension of his own, but when it came to their politics, Taeyong’s mind was blank. It made sense they wouldn’t openly discuss their opinions with a thirteen-year-old boy, but he had never heard any weird comments, or seen any disdainful looks when watching the news. He found it hard to believe that they could possibly be any worse than anything Taeyong dealt with at home:_

_While Taeyong’s dad always had a permanent frown, eyes narrowed and angry, Jaehyun’s dad was soft and pleasant. Where Taeyong’s mom was hard and silent, Jaehyun’s was full of sunshine and fresh air. It was like polar opposites._

_“You could try to convince him.” Taeyong finally said. Judging from Jaehyun’s long exhale on the other end, this was not the route to take. A bit of regret gnawed at Taeyong’s stomach._

_“I’m sure if you told them that it’s what would make you happy, they wouldn’t say no.” He said quickly, begging for a bit of peace. It was too late though, he could feel Jaehyun growing tense on the other end. Like a taught rope that had just been worn thin._

_Taeyong couldn’t figure out why Jaehyun was being like this. There was clearly something he wasn’t telling him._

_“Easy for you to say, your parents let you do whatever you want.” Jaehyun was saying before Taeyong could open his mouth. Taeyong felt his teeth clenching immediately and his fist ripped up a piece of carpet. Jaehyun could say some really stupid things when he was mad, but this was a low blow._

_“Don’t confuse that with good parenting.” Taeyong said, trying to keep calm. “It just means they don’t care—”_

_“Your parents care about you. Don’t be so dumb.” Jaehyun interrupted, metaphorical fingers piercing through the screen and right into Taeyong’s weakest spots. Taeyong squeezed the ripped-up piece of carpet in his fist. Fine. If Jaehyun wanted to fight, Taeyong could fight._

_“You wanna talk dumb, Jae? Let’s compare then: I’m laying on the floor of my basement bedroom with no heating, while you’re up in your fucking sky castle like a fucking king, whining and bitching about how you’re too scared to tell your parents you want to be a singer. Your parents, who have always supported you no matter what, and love you more than anything in this world, and who you have absolutely no reason to be scared of. Meanwhile my parents could walk in on me surrounded by first place medals and trophies or on fucking fire and it wouldn’t make a difference. So, if you really stop and think about it, one of us sounds a lot dumber than the other, and it’s not me.”_

_Taeyong was panting by the time he finished, his heart pounding so heavily against the ground that anyone underneath him would mistake it for footsteps._

_There was silence on Jaehyun’s end, and Taeyong thought for an enraging second he had hung up. Then there was the muffled sound of Jaehyun trying not to let Taeyong know he was crying. Which was pointless: Taeyong always knew._

_He could feel himself softening, despite his resolve to let Jaehyun know what an asshole he was, hands itching to reach out and touch; run his fingers through Jaehyun’s hair, along his cheek, tuck himself into the empty space on his bed. Not that Jaehyun would ever let him. If there was one thing Jaehyun was not, it was touchy._

_“Jae…?” He whispered._

_“I’m sorry.” Jaehyun whispered back. “I’m so sorry…I shouldn’t have…you’re not—”_

_“You didn’t mean it. It’s fine.” Taeyong said. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal. You’re so talented, anyone who’s seen you perform would know it.”_

_Jaehyun sniffed, and Taeyong could imagine him looking up at the sky, watching the clouds pass by overhead even though it was dark. Taeyong rolled over onto his back and looked up at his own ceiling—a swirly plaster pattern—definitely a step down from Jaehyun’s sky paradise—and pretended he was lying next to Jaehyun. Closing his eyes, he imagined their hands and arms brushing as they breathed. He imagined the small space between them growing even smaller as they unconsciously moved closer. He imagined pressing his leg so tightly into Jaehyun’s that they melted into one another: becoming a JaehyunAndTaeyong blob._

_Then just as quickly as Taeyong felt himself melting away, Jaehyun was there ripping their bodies apart:_

_“He’ll think I’m gay.”_

_Taeyong opened his eyes. _He’ll think I’m gay_. Suddenly his carpet was ice underneath him, freezing him in place as Jaehyun’s words bounced around in his skull._

_“That’s pretty closed-minded.”_

_Jaehyun chuckled ruefully. “That’s my dad for you.”_

_“But you know that’s not true, right?” Taeyong prayed Jaehyun couldn’t hear the desperation creeping into his voice._

_“Well obviously it’s not true. I’m not gay, am I?” Jaehyun was back to teasing. How quickly he could flip the switch. Taeyong didn’t like this Jaehyun as much; the Jaehyun who was the captain of their junior high soccer team, who had dated every girl in their class, and called Taeyong dumb earlier. Taeyong preferred the Jaehyun that would appear whenever he would sing, eyes closed and voice husky. The Jaehyun who wanted nothing more than to go to an arts school and spend all his days surrounded by music, the Jaehyun who sometimes cried next to him on Taeyong’s floor even though he wouldn’t say why. The Jaehyun that didn’t make the word ‘_gay_’ sound so vile on his tongue._

_That was the Jaehyun Taeyong liked most, the one he wanted to melt into. Not this ice block that made Taeyong’s heart hurt._

_“Right.” Taeyong managed to mumble back. “Me neither.”_

_Jaehyun laughed and Taeyong felt some of the warmth return to his chest. “You sure? Last time a girl confessed to you, you hid in the bathroom for the rest of the day.”_

_“I was ten!” Taeyong huffed. “Plus, she thought Pokémon was stupid.”_

_“She thought Pokémon was stupid?” Taeyong nodded even though Jaehyun couldn’t see him. “Never mind, you were right to hide.”_

_“Thank you.” Taeyong said into the floor. From this angle, it seemed as though the carpet was actually tiny trees, growing out of the ground all around him. “Hey Jae?”_

_“Yeah, Tae?”_

_“Promise me you’ll apply? Even if you don’t tell your dad. Just…you have to apply. If you don’t then—then, nothing will be right anymore. The world will be all wrong.”_

_“So you’re saying I have to apply. For the good of the Earth?”_

_“For the good of the universe. Yes.”_

_“Okay then.” Jaehyun was smiling through the phone. “For the good of the universe. I guess I have no choice.”_

_“Good.” There was a pause for a moment, where neither of them were speaking, and Taeyong could easily imagine them laying side by side again, pressed into each other and listening to their combined breathing. Maybe if Taeyong was lucky, it wouldn’t just be their legs that melted together, but their arms and shoulders and cheeks and mouths—_

_“Tae?” Jaehyun whispered from next to him. Taeyong hummed back because he was so enveloped within Jaehyun that he didn’t think enough of his voice was still his to speak. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one who knows me. Really knows me. Enough to believe in me, anyway. Isn’t that scary?”_

_From inside Jaehyun’s chest, Taeyong burst into a million flames of joy, melting all the ice around him. At least for the time being. “I feel the same.”_

_“Good.” Jaehyun said, letting it linger for probably longer than he meant before adding a quick, “If you didn’t, that’d be super awkward.” _

♥♰♥

Donghyuck was surrounded by warmth; practically smothered by it. He was in another realm—the place between sleep and awake, where you could hear the people around you talking and moving, but you could easily still slip back into the darkness. Donghyuck’s alarm hadn’t gone off yet so he tried to hold onto the dark. He reached out his hand and curled it into the sleeve of the person sitting next to him. It was a knitted sweater, beige and faded. A Christmas present. Donghyuck had seen it in the store and knew immediately he’d like it. He always liked sweaters.

Donghyuck slipped his finger into a slight break in the seam, where the manufacturer had messed up and the loops weren’t as tight as they were supposed to be, and hooked his finger around it in an iron grip. The warmth smiled and Donghyuck felt golden light on his face.

Next to him, Jaemin stirred, groaning a bit and rolling over to look at the time. Donghyuck’s eyebrows wrinkled, and he tightened his grip on the sweater, curling it into his fist and bringing it into his chest. He didn’t want to let go, didn’t want the warmth to leave. But Jaemin was waking up, Donghyuck could feel him readying to elbow him in the back, thinking about showering and getting dressed and facing the day.

The hand was back in his hair, scratching his scalp a bit as it moved and if Donghyuck were eight years old again he would’ve cried, would’ve screamed and thrown a temper tantrum until the warmth gave up and stayed like it was supposed to. It never could resist Donghyuck’s whining.

“Donghyuck,” Jaemin’s elbow was digging into his spine. “It’s eleven.”

The hand in his hair stilled for a moment, before giving Donghyuck one more slow pet, and slipping away like smoke. Donghyuck squeezed the arm under the sweater one last time but only found duvet in his hand. Disappointment hit him hard between the ribs.

“Donghyuck.” Jaemin sat up and nudged him again with his leg. Donghyuck exhaled heavily through his nose and opened his eyes. There were a couple streaks of sunlight peeking through his thin blue curtains, illuminating the few particles of dust in the air next to his bed. He watched them floating slowly around for a moment, trying to figure out if they resembled beige knit lint and if the air smelt like pine at all before grunting to let Jaemin know he was awake.

Jaemin got out of bed, throwing his shirt onto the bed and leaving his boxers in the doorway as he made his way to the shower. Jaemin was simultaneously the neatest and messiest person Donghyuck had ever met, happily leaving his clothes and jewelry lying around for days, but not able to handle when Donghyuck left toothpaste in the sink. Donghyuck would always argue that Jaemin had his own bathroom that he could use if he didn’t like how Donghyuck did things, to which Jaemin would roll his eyes and threaten to knock him out next time he didn’t wash the sink after using it.

The shower started, as did the sound of Post Malone from the speaker they kept in the bathroom. Donghyuck rolled over, star-fishing in the middle of the bed and staring at the popcorn ceiling. Jaemin took quick showers so he wouldn’t have long before he would have to get up and do the same, but Donghyuck couldn’t bring himself to move. It had been a while since the warmth had come to him. If he were to guess, it would have been two years. Donghyuck had feared that it had been gone for good, often laying in that in-between until he absolutely had to open his eyes, practically begging for that hand to be back in his hair. At one point, he had given up waiting. And now, it was back.

A dream and the warmth in one night? Maybe he was just going crazy.

Suddenly there was something being thrown on his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. He crinkled his nose as he lifted Jaemin’s boxers off his face.

“Just making sure you’re not asleep.” Jaemin chuckled from the doorway. Donghyuck threw them back, barely hitting Jaemin in the waist. “Get up and shower. You stink.”

“You better not have clogged up the drain again.” Donghyuck shot back, looking back up at the ceiling as Jaemin retreated down the hall to his room.

Donghyuck and Jaemin lived in a small extension on the side of the house, meaning that they basically had their own place, separate from Donghyuck’s parents and Jeno – something that his rat-brother never stopped complaining about. Being the youngest, and best friends with his mom’s favourite ‘son’ had its perks sometimes. She had practically begged Donghyuck to let them build an extension on the house when Jaemin moved in with them. They didn’t have their own kitchen, but they had two bathrooms and a video game room as well as their individual bedrooms, so it was heaven. How could Donghyuck have refused?

Plus, the main house had so many memories in it.

Donghyuck exhaled, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles until he could see sparks and got up.

Renjun face-timed him halfway through his shower, and Donghyuck answered, shampoo still in his hair.

“What do you want?”

“Hello to you as well, asshole.” Renjun was on his computer, not even sparing Donghyuck a second glance. “What’s that sound?”

“I’m showering.”

At this, Renjun’s eyes flicked over to the screen and he burst out laughing. “Lookin’ good Hyung.”

“What do you want?” Donghyuck repeated.

“I heard you’re getting lunch with Doyoung today.” Renjun said, eyes back on his laptop, typing away. Renjun was a bit of a tech god, even at fifteen, always working on some sort of job for someone willing to pay him way too much for it. Donghyuck wouldn’t be surprised if Renjun had ‘heard’ about Donghyuck’s lunch through less-than legal means.

“Me and Jaemin, yeah.”

“Mind if me and Chen stop by? I’ve got something for Jisung.”

“What is it?” Renjun picked up a USB from off screen and waved it as an answer. “That better not be porn.”

“Ew of course not. He’s twelve.”

“Fourteen, but close.”

“Anyway. Where are you going?”

“Not sure. Probably the diner, but it’s Doyoung’s treat, so.”

The corner of Renjun’s mouth quirked up. “Does he know this?”

“He’s the Hyung.” Donghyuck said, grinning back. “But yeah feel free to join. Anything to take the heat off of me and my _future_.”

“He just cares.”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes. Instantly, a bit of soap dripped into his eyes. Karma.

“Okay so I’ll see you later.” Renjun said.

“Yeah see you.” Donghyuck mumbled, trying to wash the soap out. Renjun flashed him a quick peace-sign before hanging up, not even noticing Donghyuck’s torment. He immediately stuck his face under the shower drain, inhaling gallons of water in the process.

By the time he was done and rolling into the kitchen, it had been almost forty minutes. Jaemin was already at the table with Donghyuck’s mom.

“Morning.” Donghyuck said, sitting down across from Jaemin after giving his mom a kiss on the cheek. He had to hide a smirk at the way Jaemin had styled his bangs to fall forward, inconspicuously hiding his giant bruise from the sight of Donghyuck’s mom’s prying eyes. 

“Good morning, sweetheart.” She responded, smiling softly and leaning over to run her hand down the back of his head. From her hand came the soft smell of chamomile soap which Donghyuck inhaled immediately. It was their routine from Donghyuck’s childhood, when he would practically sleepwalk into the kitchen in the mornings, eyes half-closed, and dried drool on the side of his mouth.

“Jeno not down yet?”

Jaemin laughed into his coffee. “We won’t be seeing him for a couple more hours I bet.” Donghyuck rolled his eyes back; for someone who never seemed to sleep, he sure did spend a lot of time in his room.

“What time did you boys get in last night? Or, should I say, this morning?” His mom asked, withdrawing her hand from the back of Donghyuck’s neck and reaching back for the tablet she had been typing away on. As she did, a plate with omelet and tofu was placed in front of him, along with some more side-dishes, since Jaemin had already inhaled most of them. Donghyuck wasn’t particularly hungry but he always ate for his mom’s sake, shoving a large piece of omelet into his mouth.

“Seven thirty I think.” Jaemin said. Donghyuck’s mom hummed, writing something down.

“Anything notable?” Donghyuck eyed the inch of purple peeking out from under Jaemin’s hair before shaking his head in response.

“Some mouthy guys at the bar gave Jeno a hard time. But we handled it.” Jaemin said, taking a large gulp of coffee. It was his third, judging by how his hand had a slight tremor to it.

Donghyuck’s mom looked up through her eyelashes briefly. “Do I have to make any calls?”

“We handled it mom. It’s okay.” Donghyuck said, meeting her eyes. “We always handle it.” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, just like how Jaemin looks at him to make sure he’s telling the truth. No wonder Jaemin was her favourite ‘son’; he was practically a carbon-copy of her sometimes.

Finally, she smiled. “I know you do, sweetheart.” Just then, a whirlwind swept into the room in the form of Donghyuck’s dad.

“Good morning everyone!” He announced at top volume, making his rounds around the table kissing everything in sight. First the top of Jaemin’s head, then Donghyuck’s, and finally his wife, who he cradled in his arms.

“Morning? It’s practically noon now.” She said, hint of a playful smile on her face. Donghyuck’s dad’s boisterous laugh followed.

“Well it has to be morning somewhere.” He said—well, _bellowed_.

Without missing a beat, Jaemin looked up at him, just as starry-eyed as Donghyuck’s mom. “It’s morning in Thailand.”

“Thailand! Of course! It’s always morning in Thailand.” Donghyuck’s dad latched onto this quickly, snapping his fingers proudly at Jaemin, who was now basically a spotlight of adoration. Donghyuck gave Jaemin a quick nudge under the table, waking him up.

“Well what should we do with this fine Thai morning then, hm?” Donghyuck’s dad took a sip of the cup of coffee that had materialized in his hand. How both Jeno and their dad managed to do that would never fail to amaze Donghyuck.

“Going out with Doyoung Hyung. Renjun and Chenle too probably.” Donghyuck said, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. He definitely could’ve used more sleep than he got. That, and less psychotic episodes, or whatever the hell was going on in his brain.

His dad nodded, leaning one hand on his wife’s chair as he listened. At the mention of Doyoung’s name, his eyes lit up. “How is the eldest Kim? Is he enjoying Oxford?”

Donghyuck shrugged. “I guess. He talks about it enough.”

“Does he want you to go too?”

Donghyuck shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

“Because you know your mother and I believe you can go anywhere you want.”

“I know.”

“Even though we have discussed Seoul National since you were little, you know the choice is yours.”

“I know Dad.”

“It would just be so nice to have you here, sweetheart.” His mom chimed in, looking up from her tablet.

“It’s just a lunch. Nobody’s going to Oxford. I don’t even like the UK.” Donghyuck sighed into his hand. The last thing he really wanted was to have this conversation again. He didn’t know why they even worried so much, it wasn’t like Donghyuck was going anywhere. He wouldn’t dream of leaving the city he loved so much. Seoul was his safety blanket; he’d be crazy to give it up.

His mom smiled, hand stroking his hair again. His dad seemed pleased too, taking another sip of his coffee. “Good.” It was on both of their faces, but only his mom said it out loud.

“What was all that about?” Jaemin asked as soon as they were in his white Tesla. Donghyuck shook his head.

“Just them worried I’m going to take off.”

Jaemin hesitated for a moment. “Should they be worried?”

Donghyuck looked over at Jaemin and for a second saw a similar look to his parents’ on his face. Donghyuck couldn’t help but roll his eyes, knocking Jaemin’s shoulder with his fist.

“_No_, idiot. And neither should you. Now let’s go before Doyoung Hyung throws a fit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!! Any feedback is appreciated!


End file.
